Firsts
by Annie Blythe
Summary: Post 2x13. A collection of Sam and Andy's 'firsts' we have yet to see.
1. Chapter 1

**So we know about Andy and Sam's first kiss, and we know about their first night together… But what about their other 'firsts'? **

**Provided readers are receptive, I will be chronicling the 'firsts' in a long list of moments Sam and Andy experience as a couple. I was surprised and pleased with the response to "Cradle" – my first bit of 'fluff' – and was inspired to write more. For those who are interested, I plan to add to "Heavy Hearts," but this particular story allows me to enjoy some angst-free writing when the going gets tough! I should note, I update regularly, but I will not be updating with the frequency the last four days have afforded. Apologies if I got anyone's hopes up!**

**A special **_**thank you**_** to all who have set alerts, added favorites, and reviewed my work... It truly does mean so much.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue, to my continual chagrin.**

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><p><strong>First date.<strong>

He caught her eye as he pulled into the parking lot. It had been nearly a month since his encounter with Jamie Brennan, a week since his suspension had ended, and seven weeks, two days, and sixteen hours since he had worked a shift with Andy McNally. Not that he was counting.

Eyes still locked on his truck, she waved Traci ahead, promising to finish their conversation in the women's locker room. Nash, for her part, didn't argue.

Andy stood on the curb, waiting for him to park, before sauntering over to the driver's side door.

"Hey," she greeted him softly, relief in her eyes. After three weeks of zero-contact, save for the first night together, the past week had been near-torture. Frank had them operating on opposite schedules, resulting in little to no free time to spend together. One of them was exhausted while the other was gearing up for a heavy load of desk duty and booking – It had been a vicious cycle for nearly six days straight.

Finally, _finally_, they were scheduled for the same shift. For Andy, this was a concrete step on the road to recovery, Destination: Normal.

"Hey," Sam echoed, breaking her train of thought. "Fancy seeing you around these parts."

She laughed openly. "Yeah, it's been a while, hasn't it?"

He hopped down from the truck, grabbing her hand as they walked toward the station. In keeping their promise to Frank, they had forfeited the usual "couple" exchanges, settling for linked fingers instead of locked lips. Best had made it clear that no "funny business" was to occur on division time; they were to keep a professional distance at work and on-duty. As long as they abided by a strictly "coworkers" code while on the clock, he wouldn't press the issue. Eager to work the same hours again, Sam and Andy readily agreed.

"So, McNally – big plans for tonight?"

She smiled, turning to face him as she answered. "Actually, yes. I'm hard-pressed for some alone time with an old friend. He's been patiently waiting for me to get my act together and spend some time with him."

Sam hid a grin before adjusting his poker face. His tone was casual, indifferent, as he prodded for more information. "Is that so?"

Andy nodded, crinkling her nose. "Yeah, I feel bad. I think he's been a little lonely lately."

"Huh." Running a hand through his hair, he paused for effect, before continuing. "Well, you better make it up to him, then."

She bobbed her head in agreement. "You're right." Approaching the division's door, she slipped her hand from Sam's. "Executive decision: It's just me and my box cutter tonight. We've got our work cut out for us, unpacking an entire apartment, but at least we'll be together."

Moving toward the door, she reached for the handle while silently predicting the consequence. _Four, three, two, one…_

He yanked her shoulder, turning her to face him. "You're impossible."

The picture of innocence, she responded in an apologetic tone. "I'm sorry. I thought I was very clear with my intentions."

He rolled his eyes, fixing her with a look of disbelief. "Yeah, I don't think so. Please tell Mr. Box Cutter that he will have to take a rain check. I'm taking you out tonight."

She paused, pretending to weigh her options carefully. "I don't know; it's such short notice. I think he'll be really disappointed…"

He held up his hand, effectively silencing her. "You're getting a proper first date tonight, McNally. Flowers, a decent meal, and a goodnight kiss on the doorstep. If you're lucky, I might even wear a tie." Noting her incredulous look, a mix of shock and amusement, he hurriedly continued, "This offer expires in three, two…"

"Okay," she answered, giving up the battle. Sighing outwardly for show, she made a note in her head to discuss outfit options with Traci. _Hopefully they would have a few minutes before parade to brainstorm_. For all her false aggravation, inwardly she was cheering. "I'll cancel my preexisting plans."

She pushed up on her toes to give him a quick, discrete kiss on the cheek before stepping into the station. "But a tie, really? I'll believe it when I see it, officer."

He shook his head, well aware that he had walked into that trap. Following her inside, he called after her retreating figure. "I'll swing by the new condo at 6:30, McNally. Be ready to go."

* * *

><p>True to his word, Sam stood on the step of her apartment complex, pressing the buzzer at 6:30 p.m. sharp.<p>

As he waited, he heard the sound of something crashing, followed by a muffled '_Oh, shit_' before her slightly frazzled voice answered, "Come on up."

He chuckled, reaching for the door as it clicked. _Some things never change_…

* * *

><p>Whatever he was subconsciously expecting when she opened the door, well – those expectations went flying out the window.<p>

He opened his mouth to avoid swallowing his tongue, but no words came out.

She spoke instead, albeit breathlessly, as if she had been running. "Please, come in. I just have to grab my other shoe." Bracing herself against the doorframe, Andy slipped her foot into a low heeled boot as Sam entered the condo.

"Hey. You look… you look great. I, uh –," he cleared his throat. "Just really nice."

He had seen her in a lot of different outfits: Her uniform at work, her typical jeans-and-tank attire at the Penny, the "hooker apparel" on her short-lived John sweep, and well… He had seen her _minus_ all of those clothes as well. But there was something about the knowledge that she had dressed up specifically for him, for tonight. His heart beat an unsteady, staccato rhythm and his usual wit abandoned him.

A delicate white top, edged with some kind of lace – He really wasn't up-to-date on women's fashion and the appropriate descriptors – was complemented by a deep green cardigan. Her dark wash, denim skirt was longer than he had seen her wear, stopping a few inches before her knees, but it was no less attractive. Her tights, a concession to the bitter Toronto air, were largely covered by high brown boots, but _damn it_ if her legs still didn't look amazing. How did women manage to pull that off? Regardless, he silently thanked God for the gift of the female form – It was some really excellent creation on His part.

Lifting his gaze to her face, he noticed her hair was curled around her shoulders, and whatever she had done to her eyes… Well, he thought that they couldn't get any prettier, but apparently women liked to dress them up and drive men wild in the process.

Realizing she was looking at him, an eyebrow raised in question – obviously returning his silent stare – he moved toward her, stretching out his arm.

"These are for you." He held out a bouquet of lavender orchids. "Whenever you're ready to go…" he trailed off, moving his thumb in the direction of the door.

"Oh, Sam. They're beautiful," she acknowledged, her words sincere. "Thank you." She moved toward the kitchen, calling over her shoulder. "I'm just going to put these in water quickly. And thank you for the compliment… You look **_really nice_** too."

Her teasing tone knocked some sense into him, and by the time she reappeared, his droll humor was back in top form. He held her jacket as she slipped her arms through the sleeves, before reaching for a scarf on the small hallway table. Wrapping it around her neck, she looked at him slyly. "I remember you seem to have an affinity for leopard print, so I thought I'd work it into my outfit tonight."

His eyes twinkled. "I'm glad you remembered. But there's a difference between liking leopard print and liking it _on_ someone."

"Ah, now I understand." She smiled, laying her hand on his chest as she peeked beneath his own jacket. "Hmm, no tie. That's kind of a disappointment. But wait – what's this?" She paused for effect. "A button-down! Sam Swarek, who knew you had it in you? Uniform aside, I didn't know you owned a shirt with a collar."

He smirked. "Yeah, well, we all have our secrets, McNally."

"Well, let's get going then, and see if we can unlock the mystery that is Sam Swarek during this 'first date' small talk."

He followed her out the door, waiting on the stair as she locked up. He could have sworn he heard her singing something familiar under her breath. Something that sounded distinctly like, "_He moves in mysterious ways_…"

* * *

><p>Pulling into the parking lot of their favorite 24-hour diner, he cut the engine before turning to look at her.<p>

"I know it's not a fancy Italian restaurant or anything, but I figured this is more our style. Besides, we have a lot of good memories here, and I know we haven't had a chance to come here together in over two months, so –"

She cut him off, saving him from his own rambling. "Sam." Meeting his gaze, she smiled. "It's perfect."

He exhaled deeply, gave a quick nod, and hopped out of the truck, circling the hood in a matter of seconds. Reaching for the door handle, he offered his free arm to guide her to the ground.

Unable to resist teasing him, she rested her hand on his shoulder as she slid from the cab. "A gentleman, through and through. A girl could get used to this, Swarek."

He shrugged offhandedly. "Yeah, well, this parking lot is notoriously icy, and let's face it McNally, you're a danger magnet. That danger does not exclude the natural variety." He swung the truck door shut, before finishing, "I'd rather not spend the rest of the evening with you in the E.R."

"I don't know…" she mused. "I mean, if I fell, that might mean spending the rest of the evening wrapped up in your arms. There could be worse things, you know."

He looped an arm around her shoulders, leading her away from the truck before he responded. "You're right. But I'm hungry. And if this date ends the way I'd like it to end, I'll need to have eaten."

"And what's that supposed to mean? Don't you think you're being a little presumptuous?"

He grinned cockily. "Nah, I just know my girl. And you might wanna reconsider ordering pancakes. I know you can get breakfast any time of day here, McNally, but it's 7pm. We're on a date. You can order real dinner food."

She wrapped an arm around his waist, hugging him gently. "I know. But I like my pancakes."

Hiding her chin in her scarf, she smiled surreptitiously. Sam may not have noticed his turn of phrase, but there was no way she missed the "_my_" before "girl."

* * *

><p>An hour and a half later, they emerged from the diner, sides aching. Andy couldn't remember a time when she had laughed so freely. Clutching a carryout box of pancakes – '<em>They'll still be good tomorrow morning!<em>' – she slid her free arm through Sam's.

Sam, for his part, couldn't keep a goofy grin off his face. His posture was relaxed, his expression lighter than it had appeared in weeks. Tonight seemed to take years off him.

"So what's next, Dream-Date Ken?"

"Well, dinner and a movie seemed too cliché, and dinner and a walk – as nice as that sounds – is a bit impractical in weather like this, so I thought we'd go find a hill overlooking the city, maybe have a chance to talk some more…"

She stopped walking and removed her arm from his grasp. Turning toward him, she set her to-go box on the hood of a nearby car and crossed her arms in front of her chest, her face clearly showcasing disbelief.

"Oh my god, Sam, you want to take me _**parking?"**_

"See, when you say it like that, it sounds like I have an agenda."

"Well, see, when you set it up like that, it seems like you **do** have an agenda."

"Riiiight. So, is that a '_yes_'...?" he said, eyeing her mischievously.

For one moment, the parking lot was still, save the "OPEN" sign humming with electricity in the diner window. Covering her face with her hands, Andy didn't respond.

Slightly alarmed, Sam backpedalled. "Andy. No, Andy – Look, I'm sorry; I wasn't trying to imply anything. I don't have expectations per se, I just thought…" he trailed off, as she wiped at her eyes. He stood wordlessly, until a huge guffaw broke through his reverie.

"No, Sam –" she doubled over in silent hysterics, more tears pooling at her eyes. Realizing her primary emotion was laughter, he fixed her with a stern glare. "I'm not laughing at you – okay, that's not actually true – but you have to understand, _Officer Sam Swarek_ is asking me to go _parking_ with him. Don't you see how hilarious that is?"

"I shouldn't have said anything at all."

"No, no, I disagree. You just completely _made_ my night." She giggled to herself, repeating the word "parking" under her breath, as Sam looked on impatiently.

Sensing his irritation, she reached up to tug his ear to her mouth. "I have a better idea. Let's go back to my place. At least then we can operate under the premise that we're 'watching a movie.'"

He grumbled lightly, still annoyed at her recent bout of hysterics. "I don't know, McNally, we _old-timers_ have a pretty strict sleeping schedule. I don't know if I can stay awake to watch a movie."

"Well, how about this: You can drive me home, walk me to my door, give me the proverbial kiss on the doorstep, and say goodnight. And then you can follow me inside and fulfill that promise for a good night." She leaned into him, pulling his chin down and forcing him to meet her gaze. "Please?"

He let out a begrudging chuckle at her hopeful expression. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

She smiled, circling his neck with her arms. "You're what I want, silly."

He was silent, contemplating the look on her face before wrapping his arms around her waist. "That's good to hear." He hesitated briefly. "I guess we don't do much by the book, anyway."

"That's true."

Releasing her abruptly, he grabbed her arm and began to drag her in the direction of the truck. "I mean, most girls would shut the door and head to bed after a first date, dreaming of the next knee-weakening, butterfly-inducing, one-hell-of-a-Swarek-kiss."

"Oh, is that what we're calling it, then?" she half-laughed, half-snickered, following him to the truck.

He flicked his wrist, spinning her until her back rested against the passenger side door. Using his arms to box her in, he bent forward, grazing his lips against her ear. "Yes, that's what we're calling it, McNally."

She gave him a light push, raising her eyebrows suggestively. "Well, then I guess you're lucky I'm not _most girls_."

He stepped back, popping the lock and ushering her into the cab. "Hop in. Can't wait to see where this is going."

They exchanged twin grins, pancakes long forgotten as Sam swiftly shifted into reverse.

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><p><strong>Interested in seeing more? Too OOC? Please leave a review and let me know.<strong>

**Please excuse any and all grammatical mistakes; they are my own.**

**As always, thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow! The response in 24 hours has been overwhelming. Thank you so much to all who set alerts and favorites, and a special thank you to the reviewers. Because I already had Chapter 2 written, I decided to post it early. Consider it my token of gratitude.**

**With regard to the setting: I have created an unofficial timeline for Sam/Andy's relationship, beginning with Sam's undercover stint in mid-October. To my knowledge, we are not given a month on the show, but I'm choosing to invoke an early winter because of the snow fall in the finale. This means that their first date was after the first week of December, and this chapter begins in mid-January. I will not**** be posting 'firsts' in chronological order, but I will indicate what month the story takes place (by my timeline, anyway).**

**Warning: You could slap this chapter on a peanut butter sandwich, and you'd have a nice Fluffernutter.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue.**

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><p><strong>First dance.<strong>

It was the silhouette of a couple dancing that caught her eye.

She had passed the community bulletin board in pursuit of a decent cup of coffee when the image jumped out at her. Best had mentioned a few weeks back that the mayor was hosting a gala in February, celebrating the service of police, firemen, and rescue personnel in the city of Toronto. While it wasn't "mandatory," the staff sergeant had made it clear that he wanted a good showing from 15 Division. Grabbing the flyer from the board in the front lobby, Andy scanned the text.

She repeated the information to herself softly, before pinning the notice back on the board. Making a mental note to talk to Sam, she scurried away.

Returning to the station fifteen minutes later, two cups of coffee in hand, she resolved to break the news to Sam, erring on the side of "soon." Over coffee seemed as good a time as any; if she had learned one thing, it was that he was easier to deal with when he'd had a cup (or three). They had been dating for over a month now, and while neither she nor Sam were "night on the town" kind of people, she cheered at the thought of a night together, dressed to the nines, dining and dancing in the company of friends. It could be fun, really. She just had to convince Sam.

He didn't look up from his desk as Andy approached.

"Before you get some crazy idea in your head, stop. Don't even think about it."

She halted, surprised that he realized she was standing there. "What? I didn't say anything."

"I can hear the wheels and cogs turning in your head as we speak. I saw the flyer too. Forget it, McNally. I don't dance."

She rolled her eyes, annoyed that he dismissed the idea before giving it any consideration. He didn't even have the decency to wait until _she_ brought it up. Switching tactics, she slid a coffee cup toward him and used her most persuasive voice. "There's not a small part of you that wants to give it a shot?"

Raising his head from a mountain of paperwork, he met her gaze steadily. "Not even a little bit."

Crinkling her nose, she brushed off his words. "I always had this idea that dancing would be one of your hidden talents, buried underneath that gruff and mysterious exterior."

He raised his eyebrows, his voice unapologetic. "Well, you had the wrong idea."

She could sense this was spiraling out of her control, fast. She settled for repeating the facts, hoping to pull more information from him. "So you don't dance."

"Correct. Or, to be more candid, I can't dance."

At that, she lifted her hands in mock-protest. "What? Everybody can dance."

He shook his head forcefully. "Not this guy, McNally."

"I bet you could if you tried," she countered.

Exhaling harshly, he set his pen down and folded his hands on top of the pile of paperwork. "McNally, listen. I'd love to spin you a charming tale of my mother sending me to dance classes as a kid, that growing up, I learned to waltz and sway because I was forced to accompany my sister to lessons, but it's just not true. At most, I can move my feet in a one-two shuffle, and trust me, even that doesn't look good."

Oliver chose that exact moment to pass by. "I'd have to agree, McNally. If you value the good will of the people, you won't subject the masses to that atrocity. Spare us, please."

Andy leveled her gaze, fixing Oliver with a glare that clearly read, _You're not helping_. Oliver returned her look unabashedly. Shrugging, unrepentant, he ambled to his desk. Andy turned to Sam again, this time lowering her voice.

"At the risk of inflating your ego, I'd say that there are very few things you 'don't look good' doing."

A tiny smile appeared on Sam's lips. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Andy sighed, but she knew when she had been beaten. "So, no dancing?"

"No dancing."

* * *

><p>She tried again a week later.<p>

Sitting across from him in the diner, she attempted to casually broach the subject over lunch.

She took a sip of water, setting her fork aside before she began. "I saw this really gorgeous dress when I was out shopping with Traci."

To his credit, Sam didn't comment on her painfully nonchalant tone. "Is that so?"

Andy nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, she was trying something on for the gala – Jerry is taking her, you know – and we saw this incredible number that was my size. And on sale! Can you believe it?"

A slight gleam in his eye was the only indication that he was withholding a more candid remark. "Funny how something like that happens."

"So…" she began, drawing out the word.

"So?" he responded, his tone indifferent.

"So, I bought it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"That's great." He looked up, meeting her eyes. "I bet you'll look stunning in it. Let me know when the next invitation to a ball arrives, and I'll have my fairy godmother call you a coach."

"Sam!" she groaned, smacking him in the chest for effect.

His voice brokered no discussion. "I said no, McNally."

She tried again, albeit unsuccessfully. "But what if that store has a very strict return policy on sale items?"

He chewed very slowly, wiping his mouth with a napkin before answering. "Well, I'd say that unless you decide to become a debutante, it's gonna be sitting in your closet for a while."

"You're impossible," she huffed.

He took a deliberate bite of his sandwich. "Yeah, that's what they tell me."

* * *

><p>Three days later, she made another attempt. Andy McNally was nothing if not persistent.<p>

Taking Frank's decision to pair them together as a sign that they were meant to talk, she whipped out all the ammunition in her arsenal while on patrol.

"Oliver is taking Zoe."

He didn't take his eyes off the road. "What's that to me?"

She paused, grateful that he didn't try to dodge the topic of discussion; he knew exactly what she was referring to. "Well, Oliver is your friend. If you decided to go, you'd have a buddy to commiserate with."

He chuckled lightly. "That's true. Or, I could sit at home, drinking a beer and laughing at the poor, whipped soul who has to walk around in a penguin suit for the evening."

But Andy wasn't willing to concede. "Think about it. Oliver, Jerry, Frank…They're all going to be there. Noelle can't even utilize the open bar, and she's going! Don't you want to celebrate the years of hard work you've given to this force and this city?"

He glanced at her briefly before slowing down and pulling to the side of the road. "I celebrate each time I put on the uniform, Andy. I don't need to get gussied up and have people pat me on the back for it."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "It's not like that, Sam, and you know it." Adopting a coaxing tone, as if she were talking to a small child, she added, "Give it a chance."

"_Andy…" _he began, his shoulders sagging.

"_Sam_…" she mimicked his inflection. "Please?"

He scrubbed his face with his hand wearily.

"I'll think about it."

She squealed, clapping her hands. "I have to call Traci after shift!"

"Hey!" His gruff voice broke through her mental catalogue of 'To-Dos.' "That wasn't a yes!"

_No_, she thought. _But it was progress._

* * *

><p>A few days later, her final plan of action formulated, she walked into the living room. Sam was stretched out on her sofa, languidly flipping channels on TV. She smirked to herself, mentally preparing for the resistance to come. <em>Now to implement the plan<em>…

"Hey, you know that necklace my dad bought me for my birthday?"

Sam turned, lowering the volume on the TV as he faced her. "No, I don't know that I've seen you wear anything other than your watch. Or your earrings." He paused, his brow wrinkling in confusion. "Wait, I thought you said you weren't a jewelry girl?"

She laughed, moving toward the couch. Raising his legs so she could slide underneath them, she hazarded a glance at his features. Satisfied with what she saw, she opened her mouth and began solemnly. "Sam. I don't know what rock you've been living under, but I am about to impart some serious wisdom. Let me break it down for you: One, every girl is a jewelry girl, regardless of what she says. If a guy goes to the trouble of picking something out, she's not going to complain. Two, you're right. You've never seen me wear it. I haven't had an occasion to wear it... It's a little _fancier_ than my standard fare. But, you know, there is this thing coming up…" she trailed off, not daring to meet his eyes.

He shifted, his knowing glance reading her body language. "This _thing_?" he repeated slowly.

Grabbing his hand, she squeezed it lightly. "A gala."

He was quiet, running his hand through his hair and clicking his tongue impatiently.

She looked at him expectantly, silently pleading. Afraid her private mantra of _please, please, please_ would break through, she bit her lip until he responded.

He sighed heavily. "Would it make you happy?"

Her face lit up. "Only the happiest woman on the planet," she vowed earnestly.

His mouth tugged slightly at the corners with her admission, threatening to let a smile break loose. "And if, hypothetically, I said yes, what would be in it for me?"

She rubbed her thumb across the back of his hand, locking her eyes with his. "I'd say something very tiny and lacy underneath aforementioned dress."

His expression perked up slightly before the realization of his own attire came to mind.

"So this means I would have to rent a tux? "

She offered a sympathetic smile. "Unless you're hiding one under your t-shirt/jean combo, yes, you would."

He contemplated that idea for a moment before raising his hands in mock surrender. "Fine," he acquiesced. "Fine." Tugging Andy toward his chest, he leaned back against the sofa cushions. "I guess this was one battle I was never going to win, huh?"

"Oh, Sam. Don't sell yourself short." She paused. "But yeah. You were never going to win."

"You're lucky I like you, McNally."

"I know." She smiled at him, settling comfortably into his side. "I am lucky."

* * *

><p>"Andy? We're going to be late if we don't get a move on," he called up the stairs. <em>How is it that he was the one worrying about punctuality? <em>He didn't even want to go to this damn thing in the first place.

"I'm coming! Sorry, my curling iron was acting up, and I realized I didn't bring the hairspray that I wanted. I knew I should have gotten ready at my place, but I didn't want to spoil the big reveal! There's something dramatic about sweeping down the steps in a long dress. Shoulda thought of that before buying the condo, I suppose." She paused, and he heard her rustling in the upstairs bathroom. "Hey Sam? Remind me that stairs are a factor next time I sign a lease." Closing the door, and reaching for her clutch, she muttered softly, "Just one of many things to take into account."

"Stairs, I got it. Can we go now?"

"One sec. Close your eyes."

"Andy, this is stupid; we're wasting time."

"HEY!" Her no-nonsense cop voice took him by surprise; it was a tone usually reserved for unruly criminals. "_Close_ your eyes."

He sighed, but closed his eyes obediently.

"I'm coming down."

* * *

><p>"You can open them now."<p>

Blinking rapidly, he raised his eyes to the steps, and at that moment…

He was pretty sure his heart stopped.

Mumbling incoherently for the first ten seconds, he managed to choke out. "Stairs. Yeah, we should definitely take stairs into account."

She beamed at him graciously and struck a pose, showcasing the dress to the best of her ability.

She was beautiful.

Her hair was in an elegant up-do, and tiny teardrop earrings hung from her ear. Her dress – a deep burgundy color – fit her like a glove; two thin straps and a modest sweetheart neckline gave way to a slim column gown. Her "birthday" necklace nestled in the hollow below her throat, and from his vantage point, he could see silver heels peaking from underneath the hem of her dress.

He returned her smile with a brilliant one of his own, and all anxiety about "being on time" flew out the window.

She began her descent down the steps slowly, being careful to hold on to the banister with one hand while holding the skirt of her dress in the other. Nearing the bottom, she called to Sam –

"Would you mind grabbing my arm? I feel like any moment now I'm going to eat pavement – or carpet, I guess – and I'd rather not do it on the last four steps."

He grinned. There was the McNally he knew. You could dress her up in a gorgeous gown, but she was the same girl underneath it all.

Reaching toward her, he looped an arm around her back, and for the second time that evening, his heart stopped.

"_Andy."_

"What?"

"Are you trying to kill me?"

She stepped off the final stair, adjusting her dress as she gained her bearings. "What?"

"Well for starters, that wasn't the silky material of a dress that my hand was touching. Turn around," he commanded.

A devilish grin lit up her features. "Only because you asked so nicely, Officer," she replied.

Twirling slowly, she revealed the back of her dress – or rather, the lack of back. Aside from those two thin straps that held her dress up at the top, her entire upper back was bare, along with a good portion of her lower back. The material dipped almost indecently low, and trailing his eyes over her form, Sam swallowed hard.

Brushing some invisible lint off his shoulder, she spoke. "I'll take that speechlessness as a compliment. Now step back, because I want to get a good look at you, sir."

And take a good look she did. She loved "casual" Sam, but this – this was a whole different ball game.

He stood, hands thrust in his pockets and head cocked to the side. Andy's gaze roved over the broad expanse of his shoulders, his black jacket sculpting clean lines and highlighting the dark hue of his eyes. The cut accentuated his trim waist, and Andy giggled to herself, snapping a mental picture of the bow tie that threatened to jump ship from his collar. Leaning in, she adjusted the tie with both hands and gave him a reassuring kiss on the cheek. "You look mighty dapper, Officer Swarek."

Grumbling lightly, he answered. "Soak up the sight, McNally, because you're never going to see it again."

She pouted playfully, "I have a hard time believing that will be the case. You know, I would have gotten you a tie that matched the color of my dress if you wanted."

"Well, there's a short answer for that – 'No, I did not want.' " In a rare concession to emotion, he added, "But you look beautiful."

He moved forward, sweeping his hands across her back. "You know, we could just hang out here for a while." Leaning in, he began to nip at her earlobe.

"I don't think so," she stated firmly, placing a hand on his chest to give them some much-needed space. She pushed the sleeve of his jacket up, twisting his wrist to get a closer look at his watch. "It's time to go." Starting for the door, she finished, "I'm probably going to be doing that for the better part of the evening. I feel naked without my watch."

"If we stayed here, you could…"

"Nice try, Sam. Let's go."

* * *

><p>Greeting their friends and colleagues, Andy and Sam made their way into the ballroom of the MTCC. A cocktail hour was followed by dinner and speeches from various dignitaries, recognizing veteran members of public service. After a moving tribute from the mayor, dessert was served and the dancing began.<p>

Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair as he nursed a beer. It hadn't been all bad. Good food, an open bar, and a gorgeous woman next to him? He ventured a quick glance at Andy, who was humming softly along with the brass band. He wrapped one arm behind the back of her chair, secretly pleased that she was enjoying herself. He would never admit it, but he was almost glad she forced his hand on this. It was nice to see her so carefree, practically glowing with enthusiasm.

"Hey, look at Zoe and Oliver!" Andy exclaimed, interrupting his thoughts. Together, they watched the Shaws kick off a rousing dance number with the gusto of a couple half their age.

Sam just shook his head. "Yeah, Ollie's a regular Kevin Bacon out there."

The Shaws chose that moment to twirl by, laughing openly. Zoe was pushing Oliver away from her neck, using her free hand to catch his chin and motioning toward their 'audience.' Catching Andy's eye, Oliver called over his shoulder.

"The key is confidence, McNally. You don't have to look good, you just have to pretend that you _know _you look good, and others will buy it. Right, Sammy?"

"Something like that, buddy."

"Hey, I'm just saying, you have a PYT right there, brother. It would be a shame to let this opportunity go to waste."

"If you don't ask her, someone else will, Sammy," Zoe offered lightly. They spun away, shimmying forward and backward as they swept across the floor.

Fighting back laughter, Andy attempted to regain her composure before squeezing Sam's hand. "I wouldn't say yes to anybody else," she reassured him. "Well, maybe Dov." She pointed to the dance floor, where Epstein was swinging Traci in circles. "But he's harmless."

She angled her body closer to Sam, her fingers drumming on the table to the beat of the music. Sam, for his part, took note of it all: Her amusement at observing the couples on the floor, her steady hand in his, even her reassurance that she didn't need to participate in the dancing, despite the wistfulness he could read in her eyes. She had made it clear she was just happy to be here, with him. And that was the worst part. He really couldn't refuse her anything, especially when she was being considerate. Mentally kicking himself for what he was about to do, he consoled himself with the knowledge that he was not the first of men to fall prey to the proverbial "whip."

Sam released a deep breath, before relaxing his shoulders and pushing his chair back. "So what do I have to do, exactly?"

Andy looked up in astonishment and beamed, hopping to her feet almost immediately. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him to the dance floor in a remarkable show of swiftness and agility. He followed her lead, waiting for instruction as she found a spot on the floor. As the tempo of the music changed, and the band settled into a soft, slow song, Andy answered. "All you have to do is hold me close and whisper nice things in my ear."

Linking the fingers of her right hand through his left, she brought her other hand to rest at the nape of his neck. They settled for a quiet rhythm, slowly swaying back and forth in a circle. After a few moments, Sam drew Andy closer, lightly stroking the exposed skin of her back. Immensely pleased, Andy laid her head on his shoulder as her lips curved upward.

The muffled sound of her voice hit Sam's ears. "You have to admit, this is pretty nice, right?"

An unsanctioned smile crept onto his face. "Yeah, it's not bad."

"This is our first dance as a couple, you know."

"I know," he replied softly, before adding somewhat begrudgingly, "Just don't expect me to dip you when this is over."

She lifted her head from his chest, giving him a quick wink. "I wouldn't dream of it." She paused, before continuing in a quiet voice, her words sincere. "You've been a really good sport so far. Thank you."

He nodded silently and lowered his lips to her bare shoulder. "You're welcome."

And though he would deny it if questioned, there was a small part of him that hoped for a second dance in a similar venue, he in a tuxedo and she in a beautiful dress.

* * *

><p><strong>Please, if you have a moment – Review! I'm always happy to hear what readers liked, didn't like, what they want to see more of, etc.<strong>

**As always, thank you for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**I am truly grateful and humbled by the kind reviews and various alerts. Thank you to all readers, and especially to those who have taken a moment to share their thoughts or feelings. **

**There were a number of requests for a "first Christmas," and I hope this fits the bill. According to the timeline, this is roughly three weeks after Sam and Andy's "first date."**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue. If I did, I would be best friends with Oliver Shaw.**

* * *

><p><strong>First holiday.<strong>

_Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose…_

Pausing to swipe a fingerful of icing from the bowl on the countertop, Andy sang along with Nat King Cole. Giggling at her train of thought – _Jack Frost isn't the only one nipping at my nose this season_ – she rummaged through her cabinets for her set of metal cookie cutters. She had finished unpacking her apartment two weeks ago; the issue now was finding everything she had 'put away.'

The loud vibration of her cell phone interrupted her hunt. Temporarily giving up her search, she shut the pantry door and danced to the other side of the kitchen. One look at the caller ID, and she had to war with the grin that threatened to engulf her face. Scolding her heart for skipping a beat, she punched the answer button.

"Hello dear," she greeted, her tone casual but amused. "I've been waiting for your call."

She could hear his suppressed chuckle in the background. "You know I hate to keep a woman waiting, McNally. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Sam." Sliding the mixing bowl full of ingredients toward her, she hopped up on the countertop. It was a comfort to hear his voice, so much so that she made a fervent resolution that the next holiday would be spent exclusively in his company.

"What are you up to?"

"In my apartment, messing around in the kitchen." Balancing her phone between ear and shoulder, Andy picked up a spatula and shifted the mixing bowl to her left hand. "How was your day?"

"Well the weather outside was frightful, but the fire I'm sitting beside is delightful," he said with a trace of humor. Lowering his voice, he added, "It would be even more delightful if I had someone to warm me up tonight. I'm available to 'mess around' here, you know."

Andy choked back a laugh. "Easy there, tiger. I can practically hear your eyebrows waggling from St. Catharine's." She shook her head silently – _Men_. "I really hope your nieces aren't in the room."

"Oh ye of little faith," he sighed. "I'm offended by that insinuation. What kind of uncle do you think I am?"

"Hmmm," she mused. Deciding to goad him, she paused before answering. "I don't know what kind of uncle you are, but if I had to venture a guess about which of Santa's lists you would be on this year; well…Someone would be getting a lump of coal, and not much else."

"Let the record show: That's only because I've been corrupted by a fine officer of Fifteenth. And hey, depending on context, 'not much else' can be a very, very good thing," he answered. "I like my Andy McNally with a side of 'not much else,'" he finished, barely concealing his smugness.

"You're incorrigible," she laughed. "I know they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but apparently it makes you a little randy, too."

"I haven't heard you complain yet, McNally."

"I'm choosing to ignore that blatant and suggestive remark. So you had a nice morning, then?"

He let his mind wander to earlier that day. "Yeah, it was great. Hannah loved the books you picked out. Thank you for your help, by the way. I like to consider myself a pretty knowledgeable guy, but I have no idea how to shop for the 11 year old female demographic. She's quite the reader; her vocabulary is off the charts. She's been talking circles around me for the past three days." He shook his head in amusement before adding, "Kind of like this other girl I know…"

"Well, we can't all grunt and bark, Sam," she teased.

"And Abby loved that doll. She's been dragging it around the house all afternoon. You wormed your way into Sarah's good graces with that one. She loves that it's a doll with, quote, 'age-appropriate clothing.' Apparently those are hard to come by these days."

"I'm really glad," she said, pleased with the news. "It was fun. I haven't been shopping for little girls since…Well, probably since I was a little girl." An unbidden memory of shopping with her mother before – well, before everything – came to mind. Quickly dismissing her emotional association, she asked, "So things are good?"

"Things are good," he echoed. She heard his deep exhale on the other end of the line. "I wish you were here. "

She smiled softly to herself. "I wish I could have figured out a way to take more time off, but between day shift on Christmas Eve, and the early shift tomorrow… It would have been silly to limit your time in St. Catharine's just because of me."

Sam brushed off her apology. "No, it's my fault. I should have thought to ask you sooner. Frank knows I go see them every year at Christmas when I'm not under," he replied. "Though to be fair, I wasn't making plans for two when I cleared the vacation days with him in October."

Andy's heart warmed at the words 'for two,' and her next words were sincere. "I'm just glad you got to spend a few days with them."

"Yeah, me too." He paused. "How was your dad's?"

"It was really nice. We just had a quiet morning, exchanged a few presents. He hung up my stocking from when I was little kid and filled it up. Drank some coffee, burned a little breakfast, and then we spent the afternoon watching movies. We haven't done that in forever. Honestly, I can't remember when…" she trailed off, hesitating. "Well, anyway, it's great to see him working toward getting back on track," she finished quietly.

"That's really great."

"It is, isn't it? I mean, it's hard – I don't want to get my hopes up, but at the same time, it's nice to see he's making an effort," she admitted.

Even over the phone, he could sense her inner conflict. Unable to put an arm around her, he settled for verbal reassurance. "For what it's worth, I think you're being an incredibly supportive daughter, Andy, and that's all anyone can ask of you."

She was silent on the line, and he knew she was reliving her less-than-perfect history with her dad. Sensing that it was best to leave that conversation for another day, a day when he could be physically present, Sam switched subjects. "So what do you have in store for the rest of the evening?"

"Well, I have to clean up the clutter that is threatening to overtake my kitchen, and then it's an early night for me so I can be fresh-faced for work tomorrow morning. You know what they say: Serve, protect, and stay awake on patrol."

"No rest for people who apprehend the wicked, that's for sure."

"From your mouth to the justice system's ear." She began to knead the dough with one hand as she prepped the baking sheets. "I can stay on the phone for a few more minutes while I wait for the oven timer."

"I would hate to keep you from your beauty sleep," Sam teased. "No, I should probably get going anyway. We're eating a late dinner here and I'm sure Sarah could use an extra pair of hands to get that ham out of the oven."

"No hambulances on standby?" Andy joked.

"Cute, McNally," he grinned. Coughing lightly, he spoke again. "Listen, I'll see you tomorrow, okay? I'm going to head out sometime after lunch, then maybe I can meet you at the Penny after shift? I'll text you when I'm on the road."

She cheered at the plan. "Sounds good. Drive carefully, okay?"

"I always do," he drawled. His voice dropped again and he hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more. The line was silent for a minute before he spoke. "Goodnight, Andy."

She let a tiny smile escape her lips. "Goodnight, Sam."

Hanging up the phone, Andy turned her attention back to the countertop and the cookies. Pulling the Tupperware from a drawer, she left it out, planning to package the cookies when they cooled. It would be nice to have a little 'homecoming' present for him, she decided.

* * *

><p>"She's got you all worked up in knots, Sammy."<p>

"What?" Sam looked up from his cup of coffee to see his sister's eyes fixated on him.

Sliding a plate of bacon and eggs in his direction, Sarah took a seat at the breakfast table opposite her brother. _Bachelor for how much longer? _she wondered as she eyed him carefully.

"Andy. She's got you all worked up in knots," Sarah repeated calmly. "I don't think I've seen you moon over a girl since Jennifer Walters rejected your painful attempts at romance in the second grade."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure, sure," said Sarah, holding a cup of coffee to her mouth to conceal her sly grin. "You're just naturally this mopey, I forgot."

He looked at her sternly before sighing, softening his gaze. "I've had a really nice few days, Sarah, I don't mean to be unappreciative. You know I love to visit; it's been great to see the girls. Frankly, I don't get to see you guys enough."

"I know, I know. You love being here, and trust me, we love having you. I just think that you left behind a little piece of your heart in Toronto, loathe as you may be to admit it."

She weighed her options, not wanting to push Sam too far, but certainly interested in this woman who had gone from 'partner' to 'something more.' Taking a sip of her coffee, she asked lightly, "So this Andy is a real game-changer, huh?"

He let out a bark of laughter. "A real spitfire is more like it. Doesn't listen most of the time, stubborn as a mule, and when her temper gets the best of her, she can be a real pain in the ass."

Sarah nodded, silently contemplating. "Huh. So she's kind of like you?"

He continued muttering, oblivious to his sister's comment. "She has a huge heart and the most genuinely pure intentions of anyone I know. She's kind, and she cares, and that's what makes her a great cop and an even better person." He paused, lowering his fork. "She would take a bullet to protect the people she loves," he added wryly. "I don't know – She's smart and infuriating and when her loyalty is tested, kind of terrifying… And oh God, w_hen_ did I become _this_ guy?"

Sarah smiled before setting down her mug and patting his arm gently. "So she's kind of like you?"

The slight upturn of his mouth gave away Sam's answer. "I think you'd like her."

"Yeah, it sounds like I would." Taking pity on her brother, she pushed her chair back from the table and motioned him to the door. "It's still early; people will be sleeping off their holiday hangovers."

He looked at her blankly.

"Get out of here, and bring her with you next time, Sam."

He locked eyes with her, blinking once before nodding sharply. He stood and kissed her cheek. "Thanks, Sarah. Sorry about a few minutes ago, I just–"

She silenced him with a wave of her hand. "Drive safely, and take some food home with you for goodness sake." She paused before softly calling after him, "And don't let this one go, Sammy."

Shaking her head, Sarah moved to put the dishes in the sink. _Three weeks in, and he's already a hopeless mess. I can't wait to meet this girl._

* * *

><p>Andy rose early, wiping the sleep from her eyes. The decorating had taken longer than she anticipated, but she was happy with the result. She didn't have much culinary prowess, but she could make a damn good Christmas cookie. Hopping into the shower, she brightened at the prospect of seeing Sam after shift. Three days without his infectious smile, playful jabs, and warm hands…<p>

Three days too many.

_Wow, Andy, possessive much?_

She scolded herself, beating the warm fuzzies into submission. She was genuinely happy he was able to visit his sister and her family; family was important, especially at this time of year. She couldn't be upset.

It was funny, really. Six months ago, she had troubling sleeping with another body next to hers. Now she had trouble sleeping without one.

* * *

><p>Driving with an empty passenger seat bothered him more than he cared to admit. He reached for the radio dial, hoping to distract himself with music.<p>

Sarah's spare room had always been pleasantly homey, large and welcoming. This visit, however, the room had seemed too big for just one person.

Excluding the suspension, they had been together 'officially' for three weeks. A short period of time, he reminded himself. When he had left Toronto, three nights without seeing her didn't seem like much. He had waited two years for a shot with her; now that they were together, he was perfectly capable of spending a few days alone. Or so he thought.

_50 more miles…_

Truth be told, Sam had gotten used to the pleasant weight of an arm wrapped around his chest in the morning.

* * *

><p>Tapping away at her keyboard aimlessly, Andy checked the clock in the lower left-hand corner of her screen for what felt like the hundredth time today. Bored, restless, she contemplated brewing another cup of coffee. She had worked through her paperwork quickly that morning, leaving her with little to do. Perhaps coffee was the way to go. At this point, anything was a welcome distraction. Before she could move, a deep voice interrupted her speculation.<p>

"Excuse me, officer?"

She looked up, startled. Sam stood in front of the desk, his brow furrowed and eyes squinting. "I'm trying to locate Andy McNally; I hear she works from this division."

"Hey!" she breathed. "What are you doing here? Not that I'm not thrilled to see you, I just didn't think you were going to be back until later this afternoon."

"Well I had a nice weekend with three of my favorite girls, but there seemed to be a piece of the puzzle missing," he said dryly. Smirking, he added, "Sarah says hello, by the way. She can't wait to meet you." He briefly scanned the perimeter of the station. "I thought I'd catch you when you got back from patrol. Maybe stake out the female locker room. Why are you working the desk?"

She rolled her eyes. "Best has us on rotation because of the holiday. Chris and I won the lottery this morning."

"Desk duty with Diaz. Happy Boxing Day to you."

She bit the inside of her cheek, stifling a laugh. Collecting herself, she instinctively moved her chair closer to him. "So why are you back early?" she asked innocently. "Could it be because you missed a certain someone?"

He pretended to dismiss the notion, twirling a pen in his hand and avoiding eye contact. "Sorry to let you down, but it was Sarah's homemade goodies. That girl stuffed me full of Christmas cookies. A few more hours there and I would have resembled Santa Claus. Makes it harder to pursue criminals, you know, the whole 'bowl full of jelly' thing."

His eyes twinkled, not unlike the aforementioned Kris Kringle. Patting his stomach, he added, "I don't think I could eat another cookie for eleven months or so. So I hope you're hungry. She sent me back with another tin in the truck."

As the words left his mouth, Andy's face fell. Her hand, which had previously been edging toward the underside of the desk now moved limply toward her lap. Attempting to smooth over the situation with a tight smile, she said, "Yeah, yeah, that sounds great."

Confused by her reaction, Sam mentally reviewed the past few seconds. She was upset, he could read it in her face, but for the life of him, he didn't know why. "Did I – is something – ?"

She began to shuffle through her papers, studiously ignoring him. Looking for the cause of her sudden change in behavior, he swept his eyes over the desk for any possible explanation. He caught sight of the container, partially hidden by the computer tower, and his cop sensors went off. "What is that?"

Reaching for the offending object, he eluded the hand that shot toward his wrist. He picked up the container, tracing the outline of a cookie. "You made me cookies," he stated, surprised but not displeased.

"I don't remember saying they were for you, actually," she responded. Keeping her tone light, she said, "It's not that big of a deal."

He studied them closely. "Is this what I think it is?"

"It's nothing. I just decorated them a little differently. I was goofing off after I got home from my dad's, when I was talking to you on the phone. I had a bell-shaped cookie cutter, and once I had the basic outline, it was easy to mold."

"You made me police badge cookies. With my badge number and everything. You missed me," he said, his tone playfully accusing.

She shook her head. "I just happened to be baking for the holiday season," she clarified.

He audibly scoffed. "I've seen you in the kitchen, McNally. Active soldiers leave less damage in the wake of battle."

"I'll have you know I'm an excellent baker, thank you," she said primly. "Listen, I didn't realize you'd be so laden down with cookies. I can give some more to my dad; it's fine, really."

He wet his lips with his tongue, chuckling softly. "That won't be necessary. They look great, Andy."

"You don't have to say that just because I made them, Sam," she protested.

He grinned easily at her before a devilish gleam lit his eyes. "Come with me."

"What?"

He fixed her with a raised eyebrow and reiterated slowly, "I have something you need to do, right now, come here."

"Sam, I can't just leave the desk unattended," she objected. "Chris went to the bathroom…"

"Yo, Ollie. Keep an eye on the desk for half a sec, will ya?"

Oliver moved from his chair, taking a less-than-delicate bite of his BLT.

"Uff coursth. Wef misst ewe, suthgar," he replied, his mouth full of sandwich. Swallowing, he offered again, "Sorry, what I meant was – yes, of course. We've missed you, sugar." He winked at Sam, before clapping his hand on Andy's shoulder. "You've got two minutes, lovebirds."

Following Sam, who refused to relinquish his grasp on her hand, Andy weaved through the surrounding desks. "Sam! Where are we going? You know what Best said about the two of us together when we're in uniform."

Sam abruptly halted by the entranceway of the precinct, pointing to the tiny sprig of mistletoe that Dov had taped along the crown molding a week ago. "Well _technically_ you're the only one in uniform, officer. I'm in street clothes. C'mere." He reached for her, fumbling as she skirted away.

Andy looked around nervously. "Sam, we can't."

"What? Frank can't complain. We have a perfectly legitimate reason for kissing in this professional work environment." He nodded toward the mistletoe before catching Andy's eye. "'Tis the season," he added mischievously.

"Sam, I–"

He laid hand on her shoulder. "McNally. Take a breath. I'm not looking to round the bases here." He eased her chin up lightly, lowering his voice. "If we wanted to give Fifteenth a show, we could. But not anytime soon, and certainly not today."

Giving him a hard look, she settled her hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow in challenge. A moment later, she grinned before moving toward him. "Fine," she assented, "but only because it's Christmas. And because holly-jolly Frank is less likely to get upset."

He wrapped his hands around her waist and brushed his nose gently against hers.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered gently. "Thank you for the cookies."

Tilting her head back, he brought one hand to her upper neck and rubbed his thumb over her cheekbone. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to hers once, twice, and then pulled back, releasing her from his grip.

"You're welcome," she murmured. "I'm glad you're back."

He smirked. "Yeah, me too."

* * *

><p><strong>That may have been 'first holiday' and 'first kiss in uniform,' rolled into one. I hope it doesn't disappoint - On the bright side, they have a number of holidays to look forward to together!<strong>

**Reviews are as lovely as warm Christmas cookies, fresh from the oven! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Profuse thanks to all who have set alerts and reviewed – I am encouraged daily by the responses, and though I've said it before, I am truly grateful. Thank you.**

**This chapter takes place in early January and is the longest chapter to date! I don't think we've ever seen Sam talk this much. Be forewarned, there is a heavy dose of monologuing in this chapter. **

**Please enjoy!**

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><p><strong>First fight.<strong>

Parking hurriedly on his street, Sam jumped from the truck and moved toward his apartment. He had sent Andy a text message a half-hour ago, letting her know that he had gotten caught up in overdue paperwork. Loath to be late, he had still stopped to pick up her favorite dessert from their neighborhood café. It was the least he could do, really. She had enticed him with the idea of a homemade dinner – she had the afternoon off – and he had offered his considerably larger kitchen as culinary workspace. Letting himself into his apartment, he caught sight of her, sitting on the couch in his living room.

"Hey," he breathed, bending down to brush the top of her head with a kiss. "Sorry I'm a little bit late. I had to resubmit some forms for processing, and they took longer than I thought." He moved to kick off his shoes, tossing his keys on a sidetable and shrugging off his jacket. "How was your day?"

Andy was uncharacteristically silent, and after a few seconds passed, Sam looked up from the stack of mail he was rifling through. Hoping to coax a smile from her, he set the mail down and leaned over the back of the couch, trailing his fingers down the length of her arm. "All afternoon I've been looking forward to that home-cooked meal you promised," he teased. Still no reaction from Andy. Frowning, he walked around the couch to face her.

She raised her eyes to meet his gaze. "I didn't make it," she said softly. Looking up, visibly upset, she repeated, "I didn't make dinner."

Sam stood mutely, appraising her expression. Puzzled by the distressed look on her face, he opened his mouth and began tentatively, "That's fine, Andy. We can do the dinner some other time." Squeezing her shoulder, he moved toward the kitchen, calling out as he walked, "I have a few takeout menus in one of the kitchen drawers; just let me find them and we can order something tonight."

"Wait." Her voice was barely audible over the echo of his footsteps.

He turned around, bewildered by her tone. "What?"

"Can you just come in here, please?" Wordlessly, he moved to take a seat in the armchair beside the couch.

"Andy. You're starting to scare me," he offered, his tone light but dashed with an unmistakable undercurrent of anxiety.

She shook her head minutely, pressing her lips together before answering. "When were you going to tell me, Sam?" she began quietly. Too quietly.

"Tell you?" he parroted, confused.

"About your permanent suspension from Guns and Gangs. About relinquishing your rights to promotion for two years. We talked about our suspensions from Fifteenth. We talked about probation time. And not once did you think this might be an important addition to that conversation?"

He sighed heavily. _Oh – that_. "I just…Andy…" He tried to word his answer carefully. "I didn't want you to be upset."

She scoffed, pushing herself off the couch. "Well, that's all shot to hell, because I AM upset, Sam. Upset that you hid this from me."

"I didn't hide it from you," he started to say, running his hand through his hair. "I wouldn't hide something like that. Not without cause, anyway."

Anger seeped through her voice. "Well you certainly didn't share it! A lie of omission is still a lie, Swarek."

His eyes snapped to meet hers. "Swarek?" He scowled at the name, and the tenuous grasp he had on his temper slipped. "Is that how we're going to do this, then? Make it as impersonal as possible?"

"Clearly we're not as close as I thought we were, so yeah, let's go with Swarek," she stated calmly, throwing her arms across her chest in a defensive manner.

"Great, just great," he muttered to himself. Kicking the edge of the sofa with his foot, he exhaled harshly. "Well, _Officer_ _McNally_, you seem to have all the facts, so I don't know what else I can say."

Incensed by his evasive response, her eyes narrowed. "How about the truth?" she demanded.

"The truth? The truth, Andy?" he repeated in disbelief. Clenching his fists, he refused to pay attention to the small, nagging voice in the back of his brain that told him to calm down, to take a moment and explain himself rationally. Instead, he charged full-steam ahead. "Fine, you want the truth, you got it."

She moved one arm to her hip, daring him to continue.

He looked at her evenly, as tension rolled off his shoulders in waves. "I kept this from you. I kept it from you, because no matter how much we talked about the Brennan situation, I knew that you still blamed yourself. Not Boyd, not me, but yourself. And to be frank, Andy, I'm sick of it."

She appeared properly chastised for a moment, before clenching her own fists and firing back, "That's not fair." Setting her shoulders, she braced herself for the onslaught of emotion. "You can't tell me _how to feel_. I thought you were dead, and it would have been all my fault–" her voice broke, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

Swallowing hard, Sam refused to be swayed by her emotional display, refused to let the conversation follow its normal course. He cut her off, pushing the issue. "NO, Andy. We both had an equal part in the decision to come together while I was undercover. We both made irresponsible choices. If anything, I was more reckless. I'm the superior officer, and I should have had the common sense to send you away. But I was lonely, and selfish, and I screwed up."

Pausing to take a breath, Sam continued angrily, "And Boyd – If Boyd didn't send me in with incomplete information, if he wasn't so self-serving, if he worried about others the same way he worries about covering his own ass – **NONE** of this would have happened." He took another breath, inhaling deeply. "So yeah, Andy, I'm sick and damn tired of you beating yourself up for a situation that was beyond your control. And I knew bringing up the terms of suspension would give you reason to do so," he finished.

She blinked furiously, unable to comprehend his explanation. "So you thought we'd just move forward, and you wouldn't offer this rather crucial bit of information about your career? You're banned from UC work, Sam. You love being undercover. Regardless of my feelings about the Brennan incident, how could you think it was not worth mentioning?"

He sidestepped her question with one of his own. "How did you even obtain any of that information?" he asked accusingly.

She glowered. "Don't make me a suspect, Sam; _don't you dare_." Fixing him with a stare, equal parts irate and disappointed, she clarified her source. "Frank made the mistake of letting it slip. You see, he thought you had already told me. That's what people in relationships do, Sam, they talk about things that impact their lives and their futures. Frank knows that – I'm sure he and Noelle have had a lot of conversations about decisions and implications and futures together. Is it so strange that he thought you would share something like that with me?"

Sam shook his head, frustrated with her answer. "Frank should have kept his mouth shut. It isn't his place to share information about one officer with another officer."

She laughed openly, his words provoking her. "Is that what we are? Just 'two officers'? I must have missed the seminar in Academy about co-worker 'benefits' then. Silly me."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you done?"

"Excuse me?" she mouthed in disbelief. "How can you even – I can't believe – I have a right to be upset!"

His eyes became impassive, and he responded in a hard tone. "And I have a right to share things with you in my own time, McNally, because you see, this relationship isn't a 'fast-pass' to every nook and cranny of my life."

Shocked, she was rendered silent. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then promptly closed it again. If he wasn't going to give an inch, neither was she. She moved to gather her bag and grab her jacket from the coat rack in Sam's foyer.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," she stated emphatically.

"Learning the importance of time and space?" he said snidely.

"Well, this is your house, Sam. I wouldn't want to encroach on _your space_. With me gone, you'll have a lot more room to hide whatever you so choose."

"Thanks for thinking of me, McNally. I wasn't really up for a diatribe, anyway," he remarked condescendingly.

She stalked to the door, pausing once to face him. "This isn't about every nook and cranny, not yet anyway. But let me be clear, Sam. We've been dating for a month, and we've been close for a lot longer than that. This isn't just something you can sweep under the rug."

With that, she turned sharply and slammed the door.

* * *

><p>That night and the next morning were hell for Sam. After Andy left, he angrily walked to the kitchen, threw open the fridge door, and twisted the cap off a beer. He was pissed that she had cornered him, but he was angered by his own response. He didn't need to raise his voice; he could have spoken to her reasonably and explained the situation in full. Instead, he blew up at her and was now stewing in frustration and swimming in regrets. He was a cop, for goodness sake. He should have been able to master his emotion and resolve the issue at hand.<p>

* * *

><p>She had cried. In a moment of weakness, she had allowed the tears to pool in her eyes and the emotion to choke her throat.<p>

She was pathetic.

There was nothing she hated more than for someone to see her cry. Especially when that someone was him.

She had sworn that no one would see her cry, not again. She remembered the last time she had cried without reservation in front of someone, the day her dad had busted her bedroom door off its hinges. The day he found her after her mom had left.

Angry with no one but herself, she wiped the tear tracks from her face.

* * *

><p>He tossed and turned that night, unable to find a comfortable spot on his bed. Around midnight, he had gone for a run, hoping it would clear his head and release some of the tension that was gripping his body.<p>

It didn't.

He had bungled that conversation. And he didn't realize at the time, but he had made her walk home. Alone. In January.

He was an idiot.

* * *

><p>She could have handled the situation better, she knew that. She had been on the attack, and that had immediately made him defensive.<p>

She stopped by the park on her way home. It was too cold to play basketball, and she didn't have a ball with her, anyway. But stretching out on the cool asphalt seemed to offer an immediate sense of relief. This court was familiar territory, as opposed to her relationship with Sam Swarek.

If she still had one after tonight.

She was an idiot.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Andy was partnered with Shaw for patrol. Breathing a sigh of relief, she appeased the swirling, tornado of emotion that churned in her stomach with the knowledge that she could keep to herself for the day. Oliver wouldn't press her to talk about her feelings or her less-than-chipper appearance. At least, she thought he wouldn't.<p>

She was mistaken.

An hour into patrol, Oliver turned to her, obviously battling with himself. Opening his mouth, he began, "I told myself I wouldn't get involved…"

"So don't," she mumbled.

She was graced with _the_ look – A look only a cop and a father could pull off. "Well here's the thing, McNally. You and Sammy are making it really hard not to."

He took Andy's silence as his cue to continue.

"Zoe and I? We've been married for almost fifteen years. That's half your life, McNally. Excuse me if I pull the 'sage philosopher' card. I think it's warranted."

He hazarded a glance at the young cop slumped in his passenger seat. Sighing, he slowed down and pulled to the side of the road.

"Look, I don't know what happened. I don't care what you said or he said, or any of that junk. But I know when something is off with my best friend. And I sure as hell know when something is off with you. I may not be as gifted at poker as Sammy, but I can still read your tells. You not talking on patrol? That's got to be the biggest give away ever."

Andy simply crossed her arms, refusing to confirm anything.

"Let me say one thing, McNally. He cares about you. Probably more than he's ever cared about something in his entire life. Cut him a break, ok? Older doesn't always mean wiser, you know."

Checking for oncoming traffic, he pulled back onto the road before imparting his final thought. "He's not an open book. Not to me, not to Jerry, not to anyone. It's not gonna happen immediately, and you're kidding yourself if you think it is."

He was right.

Reluctant as she may have been to admit it, he was right. So rather than argue, she whispered a tiny, "Thank you," and let him decide where to eat for lunch.

* * *

><p>When she walked into the locker room that evening, she found Sam sitting on a bench near her locker.<p>

He briefly glanced up at her before standing, thrusting his hands into his uniform pockets. "We need to talk."

She couldn't meet his gaze. "Yeah. We do."

"Not here," he stated, matter-of-factly.

"No, not here," she echoed.

"I'll come by your place around 8 tonight."

"Fine," she said, her tone listless to her own ears. "That's fine."

Her eyes followed him as he exited, and she sighed softly to herself. She would have a few more uneasy hours before they could begin to sort this out.

* * *

><p>Twiddling her thumbs, Andy sat on the couch, ignoring the feelings that threatened to consume her. Her doorbell chimed at 8:00 on the dot – <em>Sam was nothing if not punctual<em>, she thought, checking her watch – and she buzzed him up without further ado.

He stood awkwardly in the doorway until Andy stepped back, mumbling, "Come in. Come in." The imminent conversation was going to be stilted and awkward enough without false pleasantries.

She cleared a path to the living room, not offering him a drink or taking his coat. If he noticed, he didn't let on. Settling himself on the lone armchair opposite the couch, he spoke quietly but deliberately.

"I wanted to tell you. That night, when I was in my truck and you were standing on the sidewalk, I wanted to tell you. I was so relieved that you were only suspended, and I didn't want… I didn't want to add any more stress to that evening. Andy, believe me, I wanted to tell you. I just couldn't."

She nodded almost imperceptibly, motioning for him to continue.

"As the weeks went on, it got harder to verbalize. I didn't see you during the remainder of our suspension, and by the time we were working shifts together again, it didn't seem nearly as important. It would have been an additional burden for you. Or at least that's how I justified it in my mind."

He paused, waiting for her to look up. His eyes bore into hers, silently imploring her to understand. "I was wrong. And I'm sorry. Sorry for keeping it from you, and sorry for the way I spoke to you last night."

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I don't want to be that guy, Andy. There was no reason for me to raise my voice when you asked a simple question. I'm sorry."

His penetrating gaze, overflowing with concern, was enough to prompt her to break down again. Fighting her rising emotion, she remained silent, trying to collect herself before speaking.

"I'm sorry, too. Sorry doesn't even begin to cover it. I was replaying the arguments between my parents late last night, and I, uh – I, uh –" she hesitated, swallowing with difficulty.

Taking a deep breath, she vowed to make herself vulnerable. If she wanted this to work, she needed to be honest.

"Time and space led to the disintegration of my parent's marriage. They each gave the other 'more space' over more time, until they were leading completely separate lives. They found solace in alternatives. He in alcohol, she in a slew of boyfriends. There couldn't be a "breakdown of communication" when there was no communication to begin with. The whole 'marriage' thing was a sham, and I guess that's part of the reason I hate…" she licked her cracked lips and wiped at her eyes. "…why I hate time and space."

"I've never been good at communicating, or dealing with problems in a relationship. For all the 'talking' I do, I'm not a 'Chatty Cathy' when it comes to sharing intimate details of my life. Look at me and Luke." She paused as Sam winced. "By the end of that relationship, we didn't talk – not about the important stuff, anyway."

"I'm not sure what to say to you about this, about us. I don't want to be a screw-up, either personally or professionally, but there are days when I feel like my dad's legacy is following me around, haunting me. Maybe I'm not destined to be in a relationship; maybe there's something to be said for being alone. If I get hurt, it's on me. I'm responsible; I'm the one to blame. I don't want to drag anyone else down with me, least of all you, Sam." Hugging her arms tightly around her body, she looked at the floor and refused to meet his eyes.

He didn't try to reach for her. Instead, he leaned toward her, speaking softly. "We're not all destined to make the mistakes of our parents, Andy. The fact that we recognize those mistakes brings us one step closer to recognizing our own shortcomings and working to fix them." He fixed her with a serious stare. "Together."

She let out a choked laugh. "But is it worth it? Is THIS worth it? I don't want you to resent me, Sam, I couldn't handle that. I'm good at running away, just like her. And isn't it better to leave now, before things get more complicated?"

"They were always complicated, Andy," Sam muttered.

"Before things are _more_ complicated," she insisted. "…Before there is a future, and a family and God forbid, a fourteen year old girl, locked in her room, confused, and crying, and alone?" At that, she broke down, sobbing.

Sam froze, unsure how to respond. Moving toward her, he settled on the couch and touched her for the first time that evening, wrapping an arm around her back.

She hiccupped, eyes still leaking as her voice trembled. "I don't want to get to that point, that place, where the little I say to you consists of a catalogue of accusations and regrets. I don't want to say cruel things that are going to push you away and make you wish you hadn't wasted all those years of your life. I know I'm capable of saying hurtful things, and I just–"

Sam cut her off. "Stop." Removing his arm from her back, he looked at her steadily.

"If leaving is what you really want, fine, that's your prerogative, but don't you dare say it's because you're afraid of saying hurtful things. Are you under the misapprehension that you're the only one who's going to say or do something stupid?"

He threw his hands up in the air before continuing, "Geez, Andy, have you _met_ me? I get pissed, I raise my voice, I yell, I sulk. If we're talking about shortcomings, you can put 'dealing with anger' and 'letting people in' at the top of my list. I'm terrible at it, and I have been for years." Breathing heavily, he moved back toward the armchair.

She attempted to control the timbre of her voice as she spoke. "I'm so afraid…I can't be like her, Sam, I just can't. I won't do that to you."

He stood up again, shaking his head emphatically. "You may think you're like her, Andy, but I can tell you that is the furthest thing from the truth. Sure, you're capable of leaving, we're all _capable_ of leaving, but the Andy McNally I know doesn't walk away from issues. She stares down the barrel of a gun and faces them head-on. You're stronger than you think, Andy; you're stronger than _her_. At the end of the day, you don't give up on people."

He lowered his voice, continuing gently. "You don't run away. Because running away requires you to leave behind all your feelings, ignore your emotions, your attachments, your instincts. You could have easily left your dad to fend for himself when you were eighteen; you could have gotten the hell out of that house and not looked back, but you didn't. That woman whose husband was killed in the Laundromat fire? She could have been someone else's problem, but you didn't let that happen. You didn't give up on Kate, or Benny and Marie, or Dhara. You didn't run away from that burning car until you got Leslie Atkins out of it. Contrary to whatever your past or your parents or your former relationships have led you to believe, running away is _not_ your default mode."

She sniffled, upset that she was unable to contain her reaction. "I care about you, Sam. I don't really want to run away from you, but I also don't want to hurt you down the road. Hurt you like I've been hurt."

Ignoring her protests, Sam stopped pacing and repositioned himself next to her on the sofa. "You're a survivor, Andy. You always have been. You're a survivor, who despite all of the shitty things she has seen, still cares. That's what makes you a good cop. That's what makes you a good person. Your heart…" he paused, swallowing hard. "Your heart is a testament to your resilience."

"You have the _choice_ to run away, but you also have an overwhelming desire to work things out, to make them right. Whether that "thing" is a case or a person, you have that desire, and that desire is not something to be dismissed. You care enough to consider the fall-out, _why not consider the promise, the pursuit of a happy future_? Because being alone isn't gonna make you happy, Andy, it's gonna leave you empty."

She nodded once in assent, gripping his thigh with her hand. She allowed herself to lean into his touch, momentarily forgetting her tears and trembling limbs.

"I like my walls, Andy. They've served me well for a number of years. I haven't had to run away, because I've simply kept people out. You ignore people enough, and eventually they stop trying to break through those barriers. It's easier that way. No strings; no mess to clean up. Don't get close, don't get hurt – It's one less thing to worry about in the chaos that is a cop's life."

"But what kind of life is that? Living for yourself, fulfilling your base needs and desires, but never seeking more? Our oath…our oath is to serve and protect, but the first rule of 'taking care of other people' is making sure that you take care of yourself. That oath to serve and protect extends to every citizen, and guess what, Andy? I'm a citizen. You're a citizen. In the same way we're not 'above the law,' we're not below it, either."

He placed his own hand on top of hers. "I know you're scared, Andy. Scared of being like your mom or ending up like your dad. But you're not in this alone. And you're not the only one who is scared," he finished.

His voice wavered when he opened his mouth again. "You don't think I have fears, Andy? That I might be a deadbeat dad because the asshole that spent 15 minutes contributing his DNA couldn't follow through as a father figure? No phone calls, no birthday cards, no response when Sarah…when Sarah…" he broke off, clearing his throat and focusing on the ceiling.

"I don't want to be that guy, Andy. Unreliable, unstable, unable to commit. I'm too old, and I've seen enough shit. Enough crime, enough violence, enough families shattered by substance abuse and negligent or absentee parents." He lowered his voice, hesitating. "I've experienced it firsthand, Andy."

He grimaced before continuing. "Hell, as long as we're both being honest, I'm terrified that one day you're gonna wake up and realize I'm not worth the effort."

She sat up, shaking her head vigorously, as he persisted.

"Let's face it, Andy – We can joke about the fact that I'm an old man, but there's some truth to that. You're young; you have your whole career ahead of you. I don't want to tie you down to this precinct or prevent you from pursuing bigger dreams. I've been on the job for over a decade, and maybe you need someone who isn't so hardened or cynical or jaded. Someone who can work regular hours and talk to you about life outside of law enforcement. Someone who isn't in the line of fire, who doesn't make you worried and anxious all the time."

She hesitated, startled by the passion in his voice. "Do you really want that?"

"Selfishly? No. But if it's right for you, I would accept it." Flipping her hand over, he traced patterns on the inside of her palm while he gathered his thoughts. "It would be terrible, but I would accept it."

Observing his body language, reading the emotion in his face, Andy felt a tiny bit of relief – She wasn't the only one carrying around heavier feelings than she let on. She threaded her fingers through his before stating calmly, "There's a reason my other relationships haven't worked out, Sam."

He chuckled humorlessly. "So you're almost thirty and you've struggled to commit. Hell, Andy, I've got ten-plus years on you, and I can say the same thing! It doesn't automatically get easier as you get older."

"No, it doesn't get easier. But that's not what I'm talking about. Ever since we worked on that case with Emily and Anton Hill, you have had an incredible amount of faith in me." She gazed at the opposite wall, struggling to find the words to adequately express her feelings. "That…That doesn't come along every day, Sam. No one I know has had that kind of faith in me before. Maybe that's why…Maybe that's why I couldn't get involved with you. There's a part of me that was suspended in limbo, denying the feelings that I knew existed for you. Feelings I fought to suppress, but feelings that couldn't be conquered." She was silent for a moment before squeezing his hand. "You've given me confidence in my own abilities as a cop, and I need you to trust me on this…"

"I want you. I choose you. As long as you'll have me, that is." She continued quietly, "I know things don't automatically get better as you get older, but I think when you meet the right person, it's worth the effort." Flushing at the implications of her statement, she burrowed into his side and waited for his response.

He processed her words, squeezing her hand in return before taking a deep breath. "It's not fate, or our friends, or our jobs that are going to keep us together. That decision rests with us, Andy, you and me. It's gonna be a lot of hard work and heavy conversation when one of us – or perhaps both of us – don't feel up to it. I'm not going to lie to you and say it'll be easy to forgive each other. I'm gonna screw-up, you're gonna screw-up, and a lot of the time, we'll both be wrong."

"There might be days when I talk too much, push too far," she began slowly.

"You're right. And there will probably be days when my silence is infuriating." He let a tiny grin ghost over his lips. "We can't change who we are overnight, Andy, who we've been for most of our adult lives. But we can make a promise not to give up on each other."

She buried her face in his chest. "I think I've trusted you more than I've trusted any other person in my life, Sam. You're misguided if you think you're unstable or unreliable. You have been the most faithful friend and instructive training officer I could possibly ask for. You've been patient, and kind, and you taught me to be smart, to think and act intelligently." She exhaled through her mouth, before finishing her thought. "…which is why it's a shock that I acted so incredibly stupid last night." She half-laughed, half-groaned. "I'm sorry… I really am."

"I'm sorry, too. But Andy…I want to make something clear. In my past life, a permanent suspension from Guns and Gangs would have been the end of the world."

She cut him off. "I remember. You made that clear on our first day as partners. You were just waiting for a spot to open up, and in the meantime, you'd rather walk a beat than work the wire room."

He used the knuckle of his index finger to raise her chin and meet her gaze. "But I'm not that guy anymore, Andy," he whispered. "I meant what I said when we met at the Alpine. Three weeks into that UC, and I couldn't even remember why I had wanted to go under in the first place."

He brushed his nose against hers tenderly. "Before, I didn't have anything holding me back."

A quiet sigh escaped her lips. "I don't wanna hold you back, Sam."

His mouth tugged at the corners as he stared at her. "You're not holding me back, Andy. Even if I had the option of returning to Guns and Gangs, I would choose to stay. Because I am happiest here. Most fulfilled. Here. With you." His eyes shone with an uncharacteristic openness and affection.

He chuckled lightly, breaking the moment of its seriousness. "Also, I'm in no rush to sustain severe injury. Again."

She elbowed him fiercely in the ribs. "It's too soon to joke about that."

He grinned. "Let's just say I prefer the weight of a warm rookie body on mine when it comes to being made."

Rolling your eyes, she responded lightly, "You're infuriating."

"Yeah, I think we mentioned that might be a side-effect of a relationship with me."

"I hope you're not insinuating that any rookie's body would do it for you."

"Nope, not any. Female, definitely. Brunette, preferably. Legacy cop, maybe a little overeager?"

Moving from his side to straddle his hips, she leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Fair warning: I may just tackle you now and try to kiss you."

"I certainly hope so." Raising his eyebrows, he nipped at the outer shell of her ear. "Bring it on, McNally."

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews mean the world! In the spirit of being honest (like Sam and Andy), I check my email perhaps a little too frequently, hoping for feedback.<strong>

**Thank you, as always, for reading.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A sincere thanks to all readers and reviewers. I cannot adequately express the encouragement your words give me. **

**This chapter is just a short, light anecdote for a lazy Saturday afternoon. This 'first' takes place in early February.**

* * *

><p><strong>First label.<strong>

"I still can't believe you did that."

Gazing up at the sea of glow-in-the-dark stars, Sam shifted his body instinctively toward Andy, running a hand down her side as he counted the decorations peppering her bedroom ceiling.

"Some would call it initiative," she offered evenly.

"Some would call it nuts," he retorted.

She burrowed into his side, lightly tracing patterns on his bare chest with her index finger. "I just wanted to prove that you can be more than a city boy. While I have no doubts that you could fix my nonexistent car in cuffs and a blindfold, I thought I would give you the chance to enjoy a little bit of nature. Without, you know, those pesky things like fresh air, trees, wildlife…"

"How did you hang all those little stars up there?" he asked.

She tapped her chin thoughtfully before responding. "Good question. I started off with a ladder, but in the interest of 'surprise,' I didn't have anyone to hold it for me, and I was a little unsteady… Well, you get the idea." Pausing, she looked at him steadily. "Anyway, I devised a really advanced system for sticking them to the ceiling."

Raising his eyebrows, he humored her. "Is that so?"

"Yup. I bounced on my bed until I had enough air to propel me. And then I slapped them on." She grinned at him, clearly satisfied with the alternative plan.

Shaking his head, he chuckled lightly. "You are crazy."

"Nah, not crazy. If anything, I proved I'm out of this world…" Pleased that she had caught the shadow of a smile on his face, she breathed a contented sigh.

"All in all, I deem last night a success for the resident city boy. We looked at the stars. You kept me warm. I know you're resistant to singing, so I cancelled the campfire song outright. I think if we eat fish at some point today, we can check off all the boxes."

He shook his head briskly. "There's only one thing I'll fish for."

"Compliments?" she asked innocently.

"Funny, McNally. No, actually, I have a remarkable amount of self-worth."

"Don't I know it," she said with a mock-groan.

Rolling his eyes, he used his thumb and forefinger to pinch her hip lightly. "I rescind my previous statement about fishing. There's only one thing I was looking to _lure in_, and she's lying next to me."

"I'm glad you think I'm preferable to scaly bottom-dwellers." Rolling over, she leaned across his chest and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth. "That was really sweet, in a backhanded kind of way."

He slid his hand behind her neck, bringing her close to his lips again. "There are few things sexier than gills, McNally. You're lucky I consider you among those worth mentioning," he deadpanned.

Running her hands over his shoulders, she leaned in as if to kiss him again, only to curtail her movement abruptly and push herself off his chest. Smirking, she strode to the bathroom.

"That was mean," Sam complained, calling after her retreating figure.

He heard the shower turn on before Andy poked her head from the bathroom. "Tough luck, mister. Get dressed, and we can go to the grocery store. We'll pick out your fish there. You're grilling tonight."

* * *

><p>The store was relatively empty for a Saturday morning, so Andy and Sam leisurely walked the aisles, stopping every so often to argue about prices and expiration dates. Periodically, Andy would throw an item into the cart just to see how Sam would react. After being told in no uncertain terms to re-shelve the blackcurrant jam, imitation vanilla flavor, and jalapeño poppers, Andy settled for threading her hand through Sam's and people-watching.<p>

"We should have grabbed more than a piece of toast on the way out," Sam grumbled. "Everyone knows it's a bad idea to grocery shop on an empty stomach."

"We'll drop the perishable stuff off at your place, and then we'll go to brunch." Momentarily distracted by an older couple in the same aisle, she let her gaze linger. The man and woman were bickering quietly, but Andy could see the affection written on their faces. The entire situation was eerily familiar. Stifling a giggle, she refocused her attention on Sam. "Deal?" she prompted.

"So long as the place serves coffee," he muttered.

To her knowledge, there weren't many brunch places that didn't serve coffee, but she wasn't going to comment on Sam's turn of phrase. Squeezing his hand, she murmured, "It sounds like somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning."

He plastered a phony smile on his face and in a deceptively cheerful voice, said, "Somebody didn't want to get out of aforementioned bed this morning."

"You'll thank me later," she assured him. "Why don't I meet you over by the deli? You can go scope out our dinner options. I'll pick out a rice pilaf," she offered. Slipping her arm around his waist, she ran a hand down his chest. "Don't be a grouch, please."

"I'm not a grouch." Pausing momentarily, he amended his statement. "Well, not most of the time, anyway." He looked down to see Andy's blinding smile, and his mouth tugged upward. Her grin was infectious. Shaking his head, he conceded. "So bossy. You're lucky you're pretty, McNally."

"You're lucky I like you."

"I know," he responded with a trace of humor. Lowering his voice, he walked in the direction of the seafood department. "I am lucky."

* * *

><p>"Your young man is certainly a looker."<p>

Startled by the proximity of the voice, Andy turned and met the twinkling eyes of an elderly lady, one-half of the couple that had distracted her earlier.

"Oh! Thank you. I'm not sure he's my young man, exactly." Giggling to herself, she added, "He's more of a curmudgeon that accompanied me to the store this morning."

"Nonsense. Any man – even a grumpy one – that looks at a woman like that? Well, he means business. Trust me, I can read the sentiment behind the carefully rehearsed exasperation. If that boy isn't shopping for a ring, I'm Diana Krall. Which I'm not, sadly. God bless her heart; what a lovely contralto."

Andy smiled and extended her hand. "I'm Andy. It's nice to meet you."

The woman took her proffered hand and shook it with an astonishingly firm grip. "Hi Andy. I'm Maud."

"So Andy, are you hoping to keep this one around?" She winked, and Andy, startled by her direct questioning, got a look into her sharp eyes. "An old lady has to have some gossip in her life, even if it comes from a near-stranger in the grocery outlet."

She hesitated before speaking in a tentative tone. "Sam? He's great, better than great. Of course I hope that everything works out, I just – I, uh–"

Maud beamed. "Oh, don't let me make you nervous, dear. My husband is constantly telling me to quit being so pushy, and Lord knows, he's had the brunt of it. Fifty-four years of marriage this March."

"Oh, congratulations," Andy began sincerely, as her brain swirled with thoughts of Sam and the future. _Fifty-four years._ Fifty-four years was... well, it was a long time.

Maud's voice faded in the background as Andy stood, clutching a can of peas and contemplating Maud's most recent comment. For Andy, the idea of marriage was a bit overwhelming, particularly with all that had happened in the past few months. She had to admit, though, marriage wasn't an entirely unwelcome idea. Actually, she was surprised she had kept it on the table, in light of the disastrous end that - Well, there was no need to dwell on the past.

Of course, marriage would have to be with the right person. But who knew what the future would bring? You could plan for something, and all of a sudden, circumstances beyond your control could change your life drastically. Then again, who knew what Sam thought? They hadn't talked about it. At all. It was silly to put all your eggs in a basket like that, right? She knew that; she had been burned before. Sure, they both appeared to be in it for the long-haul, Sam had indicated as much, but he hadn't explicitly stated it. And what if he changed his mind? Who's to say the appeal of bachelorhood wouldn't take over? What if they didn't want the same things? Why hadn't they spent more time talking about this? Why did all of this have to come to light in the grocery store?

Her runaway thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice, and her eyes swung to meet his.

"Andy?" Sam called from the opposite end of the aisle. "I think I found a good cut if you want to take a look at it."

She nodded at him before turning back to Maud. "I'm so sorry to take off, but I should really go–"

"Oh, of course. I won't keep you, Andy, but it was nice chatting." She looked at Andy keenly before adding, "You know, people my age always say, 'What I wouldn't give to be young again.' The reality is there is some upside to growing old when you've found the right one." Winking, she pointed in Sam's direction. "He looks like my Jack did when he was young. Devilish smile, but if I had to guess, a heart of gold. If that's the case – and I think it is – don't let him go, dear. And make sure he knows he's your young man for keeps."

* * *

><p>Studiously ignoring the trays of seafood in front of her, Andy pulled at the hem of her shirt, twisting a loose thread around her finger.<p>

"Hey Sam? How often do you think about the future? Like, what tomorrow might bring?"

"Is this about the breakfast cereal thing again? Andy, I told you, I don't want any of that sugary crap in my house. If you make the decision to rot your teeth one bowl at a time, that's your choice, but I am not stocking it in my pantry."

"You goof. This is not about breakfast cereal," she said, hitting him in the chest. "The future… for **US**," she emphasized.

The corners of his mouth tugged upward, but rather than look at her, he simply pushed the cart to the next aisle. Pausing to examine a box of pasta sauce, he called over his shoulder, "I don't know if I'm catching your drift, McNally, you might have to be a little clearer. "

Sighing in exasperation, she caught up with him by the packaged noodles. "I mean…we haven't exactly given 'this' a name yet," she stated, using her hand to motion between herself and Sam.

"Huh," he said noncommittally.

"'Huh?' That's all you have to say?" she prodded. Lowering her voice, she muttered to herself, "I guess that's what I should have expected from Captain Verbose."

He turned toward her, smirking broadly. "I just didn't anticipate a serious conversation about life and our relationship in Aisle 6. The weirdest things have you waxing philosophic. Shady motels, dangerous undercover liaisons, rice-in-a-bowl," he used his thumb to gesture behind him.

She fixed him with a stern glare. "How can we expect to learn more about one another if we can't even define our relationship?"

"Well, after two years, I'd like to think I know you pretty well."

She glanced briefly at him, raising an eyebrow, before taking control of the shopping cart. "Fine," she huffed, "We don't have to talk about it."

Sighing, Sam trailed after the cart. "Andy, I just didn't think we needed to assign a status or a label to this. And in a supermarket, of all places."

"No, it's fine," she stated calmly.

"Look, things are good, right? You're happy? Because I know I'm happy." He placed a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to turn around.

"I'm happy," she echoed quietly.

Moving toward her, he leaned in until her back was pressed against the handle of the shopping cart. Placing his hands on either side of her body, he bent down to whisper in her ear.

"Listen. I know how you take your coffee, what side of the bed you sleep on, and how offensive you find remakes of classic movies. I know that you always ask for onions in your homefries, that you twist your earrings when you're nervous, and that you throw a mean right hook. I know where you keep your emergency contact information; I know whose name is on that card, and just for kicks, I'm pretty sure I could repeat your nighttime beauty regime to you. You are meticulous and consistent when you stay over."

Pulling back, he issued his signature grin before adding, "I know exactly which parts of your body flush when I get too close, and I know that before you met me, you were _missing out_."

She grinned, albeit reluctantly. "You _know_ that?"

A cocky smirk engulfed his face. "I _know_ that. And I'm happy to know all that. And if you want to have a discussion about what 'this' is, how about we do it over brunch?"

She was silent for a moment before she nodded slowly. "Okay. You're right."

"So we've agreed on something? We can talk about this a little bit later?"

She caught his eye and smiled before sighing. "No, I meant that _you're right_. We don't have to assign a name or a label to a relationship that clearly means a lot to both of us." Freeing herself from the cage of his arms, she sauntered down the aisle. "Write this down, Swarek, it's not often you'll hear me say '_You're right_' without argument."

_Things are good the way they are_, she thought. They were together, and that's all that really mattered.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, Sam and Andy stood in line at the checkout. Ahead of them, Maud paid her bill before turning to wink one last time at Andy. Waving cheerily, she linked her arm through her husband's and exited the store.<p>

Loading the groceries on the belt, Andy returned Maud's wave before glancing at Sam.

"You know, while you were picking out the fish, that woman asked if you were my young man," Andy said, pointing at the couple's retreating figures.

"Yeah? And what did you tell her?"

"Well, I told her you're certainly not young." Anticipating Sam's glare, she quickly responded, "KIDDING! No, it just got me thinking."

He poked her gently in the ribs. "Dangerous pastime, McNally," Sam declared.

She rolled her eyes. "That conversation was what brought on all my questions," she explained lightly.

Moving toward the end of the checkout counter to bag the groceries, he grinned. "Ah! And the world makes sense again."

Andy simply hummed in response and began fiddling with a packet of gum. Sam opened his wallet to pay the cashier, and after offering a few bills, he removed several of the shopping bags from their perch. Shaking his head when the clerk offered the receipt, he nodded toward Andy.

"Would you mind giving the change to my girlfriend? My hands are full." Fighting to keep a blank, disinterested look on his face, he raised his eyes to find Andy frozen by the till.

She gingerly replaced the gum on its shelf, inhaling sharply before she put her hand out to accept the change. Spinning around on her heel, she fixed Sam with an incredulous look.

He smirked before he answered. "We're good at concealing things, Andy; it's part of our job, but we were never very good at hiding things from each other." Walking to the end of the queue, he tossed the bags in the cart. He waited until she approached before casually wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Besides, I don't want to hide it."

Andy leaned into his touch. "Sam – Look, we don't have to use conventional titles just because I was being a baby back there."

He laughed. "Trust me, that title is far from conventional for me. It's not everyday I go throwing around words like that." Planting a light kiss on her temple, he murmured in a low voice, "Hey. If it means something to you, it means something to me, too. You know that, right?"

She did.

_Things are good the way they are_, he thought. It didn't hurt to reaffirm those sentiments.

* * *

><p>Heading toward the parking lot, Andy was lost in thought. As they began to load the groceries in his truck, she asked nonchalantly, "So does that mean I can call you my boyfriend?"<p>

Sam pretended to consider the idea for a moment. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Hmm. That's good to know."

She paused before backing him into the body of his truck. Leaning in, she placed her arms on either side of him before asking, "You know what else I'm glad to know?"

Smiling cockily, he placed his hands on her waist, drawing her closer. "What's that?"

"You drink 1% milk, you make a mean shepherd's pie, and you truly abhor emoticons, to the point of using "abhor" instead of "hate," like a normal person. You like hockey and action thrillers, but you'll never admit to having seen _The_ _Mighty Ducks_." When he tried to protest, she shushed him, continuing, "You have a compulsion to match your socks with your t-shirts, which does wonders for explaining your monochromatic wardrobe. You make me cut onions when we cook dinner together, and the speed dials on your cell phone concur remarkably to those who have access to your emergency contact information."

She released her hands from the side of the truck, before lowering her voice. "But you know what I'm happiest to _know_? That secretly, you're a big softie." Reaching up, she pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry, I won't tell Dov. You've got a reputation to maintain."

She grinned over her shoulder as she pushed the cart into a nearby corral.

"Now come on, I want to have brunch with my boyfriend."

* * *

><p><strong>Many readers have asked if I will take suggestions, and the answer is yes. I cannot guarantee that I will create scenarios for every suggestion, but I am happy to hear your thoughts! I have an outline of my own, but when I have exhausted those 'firsts,' I will be open to writing more.<strong>

**Thank you, as always, for reading. Reviews are as nice as little old ladies in the supermarket.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you for your continued interest in this story! I have been floored by the number of alerts, favorites, and reviews, and I am indebted to you, the readers. Thank you!**

**I apologize for the delay with this 'first.' I was called out of town unexpectedly and I was unable to submit this chapter before I left. Rest assured, I will resume a more regular posting schedule this week.**

**This 'first' takes place in early March.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Rookie Blue, **_**Jane Eyre**_**, or **_**Persuasion**_**. I will claim ownership of Avery stories.**

* * *

><p><strong>First introduction.<strong>

"Andy? I told her we'd be at St. Catharine's by two o'clock. We're pushing it as-is, and that's without traffic. Are you ready to go?"

"I'm coming! _Where did I leave my makeup bag?_ I'm sorry; I'm coming. My stupid hair dryer shorted out, and now I can't dry OR style my hair, and we have to leave, and I should have left more time to get ready."

A muffled '_Damn it_!' echoed throughout the upstairs hallway. All was silent or a moment, before he heard her ask weakly, "I don't suppose you have a portable, battery-operated hair dryer I could take with me in the car?"

He let out a short bark of laughter. "And when exactly would I have obtained one of those?"

"I don't know, maybe one of your undercover stints?" she said. "A girl can hope, right?" When her comment went unanswered, she conceded her error, muttering, "Yeah, okay, bad idea…"

Sam poked his head over the banister, an amused expression on his face. "Drug addicts and gun smugglers don't typically make a point of having well-styled hair. And I know I can be reticent at times, Andy, but I thought you would have realized by now… I'm not a lady. There's some pretty strong physical evidence to the contrary."

She hopped down the stairs, overnight bag slung over her shoulder. "I get it. I'm pretty familiar with that evidence." Leaning forward, she thrust the bag in his direction. "You can put this in the truck. I just need to find my boots and I'll be set."

Fishing his house keys from his back pocket, he tossed her the set. "Lock up, okay? I'm going to go start the engine."

She deftly caught the keys in one hand. "Thank you for being so patient," she teased. "It's one of your gifts, truly."

Spinning quickly toward the kitchen, she called over her shoulder. "And Sam? You better not have snuck any more baked goods while I was getting ready. If I find crumbs in your kitchen…"

He grinned. "You'll what? Arrest me? Get moving, slowpoke."

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later, they were on the road. If Andy's penchant for fiddling with the radio dial wasn't a clear sign of her nerves, the breathless tenor of her voice was a dead giveaway.<p>

"Thank God I made the brownies last night. Trying to bake this morning? That would have been a disaster and a half, and we'd be late. Well, later than we are already." She paused to take a breath, and then picked the conversation back up at warp speed.

"Do you think it's enough? Should we have brought flowers or a bottle of wine or something? I don't know what the occasion warrants; I mean, she's _your_ sister, but what if I give her the wrong impression?"

Sam grinned. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, Andy."

He paused before adopting a serious tone of voice. "Wait. Hold on. I think you have a little something right…" Taking one hand off the steering wheel, he rubbed her nose gingerly with his index finger. "Right there. Just a little smudge, really."

"What?" she said frantically, flipping down the vanity mirror. Carefully inspecting her appearance, she didn't immediately catch Sam's smirk in her peripheral. After close examination of her face – no visible traces of dirt to be seen – realization dawned, and she snapped the mirror shut.

"_Sam_," she groaned. "That was mean. Does it look like I'm brown nosing? The last thing I want is for Sarah to think I'm a suck-up."

He flashed a reassuring smile. "I'm kidding, Andy. She loved your Christmas presents for the girls, and more importantly, she knows you're a big part of my life. Don't be nervous."

"Easy for you to say, Mr. Cool and Collected. Telling me not to be nervous is like telling me not to breathe," she scoffed. Twisting her fingers through her hair, she stared out the window of the truck, lost in thought.

The drive continued in silence until the tremor in her voice shattered Sam's concentration.

"What if she doesn't like me? What if she doesn't like me _for you_?"

Avoiding his eyes, she lowered her hands to her lap and stared at them.

He didn't take his eyes off the road, but he reached for her hand all the same. Rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand with broad, soothing strokes, he continued until her breathing evened out.

Touch conquered fear. Words wouldn't placate Andy, but his physical presence ignited a fire, a courage within her.

* * *

><p>Andy had remained calm for the rest of the drive until they pulled into the driveway of Sarah's house. The red brick Victorian loomed before them, and while Andy could not deny its beauty, neither could she deny the sense of trepidation that seized her heart.<p>

Sam was halfway up the walkway before he realized the footsteps behind him had halted. Spinning on his heel, he caught sight of Andy, frozen on the driveway, a glazed expression on her face. She swallowed hard, offering a tentative and thoroughly unAndy-like smile. "I'm good," she stated, making a concerted effort to correct the waver in her voice. "I'm fine. I just needed a minute to…uh, gather my thoughts."

Retracing his steps, Sam walked toward Andy and reached for her hand. He studied her nervous features for a moment before pointing to an alcove off the porch. Tugging her inside, he gestured to the bench situated there, prompting her to sit. The two sat quietly for a moment, staring at the ivy patterns that climbed the surrounding walls. Sam turned his body toward hers, and she instinctively curled into his side.

"You'll be great, Andy," he said firmly, his eyes boring into hers.

"_Andy_," he repeated, lifting her chin with his finger. Lowering his voice, he continued. "You'll be great. Don't overthink it. Be yourself – that's all. You stood up to my bark and bite your first day on the job." After a moment of reflection, he added, "Trust me, my sister is a lot politer than I am."

She nodded quickly, silently coaching herself.

Sam tried a different approach. "You know, I survived dinner with your dad," he said with a chuckle.

That statement elicited a smile from her. "That's different. You already knew my dad in a professional capacity."

"Hah," Sam laughed. "There's a big difference between being introduced as a work colleague and being introduced as the man who regularly invites his daughter to bed."

She rolled her eyes, but Sam could see her nerves – while still present – were fading.

"Would it help if I distracted you?" he asked slyly.

Her mouth turned upward in a knowing smirk. "And what exactly do you propose?"

"I can think of one or two things off the top of my head," Sam teased. Slipping one arm behind her back, he ran the other hand over her shoulder and up her neck, tenderly guiding her mouth to his. His lips applied gentle pressure to her own, prompting her to deepen the kiss. Even with her eyes closed, Andy could sense his growing smile, and she suppressed a giggle of her own.

Skimming her cheek with his nose, he exhaled before tugging her to her feet abruptly. With a quiet chuckle, he dragged Andy in the direction of the front porch. "C'mon, officer. Bite the bullet."

Breathless, Andy followed in his wake, shaking her head. "Yeah, leave me completely incoherent and incapable of saying a single intelligent thing; that's the ticket," she muttered. "I'm sure I'll make a lovely impression."

Straightening her shirt, she quickly assessed the rest of the damage from Sam's wandering hands._ On the bright side_, she thought, _I don't have to worry about my hair looking any worse than it already does._

* * *

><p>The door was flung open moments after Sam rang the doorbell. "Hey, stranger."<p>

"Nice to see you, sis," he said, briefly dropping Andy's hand to hug his sister and plant a kiss on her cheek.

"Sarah, this is Andy. Andy – my older sister, Sarah."

She was tall, taller than Andy had expected. Slim, with piercing dark brown eyes, she had delicate cheekbones and an aquiline nose. Her face was framed by long, wavy strands of brown hair, gathered haphazardly at the nape of her neck. Broad shoulders gave way to long, toned arms; Sarah was clearly active, and according to Sam, capable of throwing a hard punch – _Must run in the family_. He had described his evenings teaching her how to box with a note of something akin to pride in his voice. She was dressed casually in a cardigan and jeans, and her low-key persona immediately put Andy at ease.

"Elder and wiser, yes, but we shouldn't discount the beauty aspect as well, Sammy," she said, with a trace of the Swarek smirk. "I have a corner on that market."

Widening the door, she turned to Andy. "It's very nice to meet you, Andy. We've heard a lot about you." She extended her hand warmly, adding, "I'm a handshaker. I hope that's okay."

Andy smiled in return. "Of course! That's fine." Sarah's hand was steady, her palm, cool, and she grasped Andy's proffered hand tightly.

Sarah's eyes seemed to assess every detail in a matter of seconds, and Andy couldn't help but flush under her studied gaze.

"You're very pretty, Andy. But I anticipated that already." She winked conspiratorially, as if she had known Andy for years rather than mere seconds. "My brother Sam, fine officer of the law that he is, has always been adept at providing physical descriptions of people. Except when he finds a woman attractive. Then he gets all tongue-tied and flustered."

Sam rolled his eyes, moving across the foyer floor. "I do _**not**_ get flustered."

"No, he doesn't. He just refuses to objectify a girl he likes, so he sticks to non-descript, vague adjectives. It's actually kind of sweet when you think about it," she commented, playfully elbowing him. "Anyway, it's nice to have a face to go with the name. Welcome to our home, Andy." Ushering them into the family room, she took their coats and directed them to the sofa.

"Will and the girls went to the market to pick up some groceries for a late lunch. They should be back soon. In the meantime, you guys can tell me about the ride up, traffic, and the official story of how you two met."

She plopped herself on a chair kitty-corner to the couch. "I've heard one side, but I think it's a safe bet to say there's more to the story, officers. Am I right, Andy?"

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes after their arrival and eighteen minutes into a colorful recap of Sam and Andy's early working relationship, Will stumbled through the door with an armful of groceries and two girls in tow. Sam was nearly tackled by the taller of the two, while the smaller girl clung to his leg and peeked out at Andy.<p>

"Hi girls," Sam said. "This is my special friend, Andy."

"Your _special _friend, Uncle Sam?" Hannah asked, with the air of an all-knowing eleven year old. Turning quickly to Andy, she beamed and offered her hand. "Hi, Andy." Taking a step back, she squinted and scrutinized Andy's appearance before speaking again.

"Uncle Sam needs a woman in his life," she added seriously. "All the great literary heroes have 'special friends.'" She looked at Sam pointedly. "He's a sympathetic protagonist – I might use him as the inspiration for my next writing endeavor."

She beckoned Andy closer before whispering, "He's got the whole Rochester vibe going for him, minus the crazy lady in the attic, but secretly, I think he's more of a Captain Wentworth. You know, suffering in silence, pining after a woman for a number of years." She straightened up before skipping over to the stairs. "Anyway, I'm going to go grab my book, but I'll be back in a few minutes." She smiled again on the steps. "I'm glad you're here, Andy." Spinning on her heel, she bounded up the staircase.

Andy, taken aback to say the least, looked to Sam helplessly.

"Told you she was a reader," mouthed Sam, bending over to sweep Abby in his arms. After tickling her sides and eliciting a quiet giggle, he set her back down and kissed her forehead. "Abby, sweetie, this is Andy."

Staring at her Mary Jane-clad feet, Abby whispered, "Hi."

Andy dropped to her level, squatting by her side. "Hi, Abby. I like your dress. It's very pretty. You look very grown-up."

A glimmer of a smile appeared on Abby's face as she tugged on a purple bow attached to the trim of her dress. "Mommy said I could dwess up today. It's a special day," she murmured. Looking up at Andy, she said, "Maybe I can show you my w'oom later?"

Andy smiled encouragingly. "I would really like that. Thank you."

When Hannah returned to the sitting room, Andy took a moment to study the girls. Each had dark eyes and familiar smiles, but Abby's hair was a riotous mess of blonde curls, while Hannah's hair was long and smooth, a light brown shade.

"Will was white-blonde as a child," Sam said, following Andy's gaze. "Trust me, they don't get that from our side of the family."

"It was almost embarrassing," Will said good-naturedly. "I appear utterly hairless in every photo for the first ten years of my life because I was such a light shade of blonde." He grinned, and Andy could see that his smile was infectious. "Anyway, let me greet you properly like a normal human being."

Offering his hand warmly, Will added, "We've been looking forward to meeting you for a while, Andy."

Stepping back, he clapped his hand to Sam's shoulder."Good to see you, brother. It's nice to know there's hope for you yet," he said teasingly.

As Andy and Sam settled back down on the couch, Will moved to take the remainder of the groceries into the kitchen. Hannah buried her nose in a book, sneaking glances over the pages every few minutes. Abby was less subtle, taking a seat in the corner of the room and unabashedly staring at Sam and Andy. Popping her thumb in her mouth, she didn't take her eyes off them until Sarah poked her head through the door.

"Andy, would you like to help me prep in the kitchen?"

Sam smirked at Andy, giving her hand a squeeze. "I think that's code for girl talk time. Good luck. Don't say anything too disparaging about me," he said, motioning to the kitchen.

"If you need suggestions for topics of conversation, there's always my rugged good looks, my incomparable performance in the line of duty, and my status as favorite uncle. You've got a lot to work with."

Careful to keep her back to the girls, Andy stuck her tongue out at him. "And your humility. I hope your sister deflates that head every once in a while, mister."

"Well, you'll find out soon, huh?" He rubbed her shoulder tenderly before pushing her off the couch. "Now scoot, McNally. I've got nieces to entertain."

* * *

><p>By the time Andy walked through the entranceway, Sarah had transformed the countertop and island space into little deli sections, devoted to meats, cheeses, and a number of vegetables. Spinning around the kitchen, she picked up a large sourdough loaf and gestured toward it.<p>

"Would you mind slicing the bread for sandwiches, Andy?"

"Oh, not at all. I'd love to help." Happy to have something to keep her hands occupied, she settled onto a bar stool, clutching the knife Sarah passed her as if her life depended on it.

If Sarah noticed Andy's decidedly white knuckles, she had the courtesy not to mention it. She was silent for several minutes as she washed lettuce and diced tomatoes, and it was only when she started to fix the lunchmeat that she causally broached the elephant in the room.

"Look Andy, I'm going to level with you. Ten years ago, if Sam had brought a girl over here, there is no doubt in my mind that I would have interrogated the crap out of her. But the fact of the matter is that Sam hasn't brought a girl here before. Ever. So that means that _this," _she waved her hands in a broad circle between the living room and the kitchen_,_ "means something to him. And if it means something to him, I respect that."

Glancing up, she fixed Andy with a stare not unlike Sam's, focused, probing, observant. In one look, she gleaned more information than Andy cared to offer; her dark eyes were sharp and clear, attune to Andy's discomfort.

Watching her fidget for a moment, she smiled encouragingly. "I'm not looking for reasons to dislike you, Andy." As an afterthought, she added, "Although if you do hurt him, I reserve the right to kick you out of this house."

A tiny smile escaped from Andy's lips, and she set the bread knife aside to meet Sarah's gaze. "That's good to know. I don't think I've been this nervous since I received my first rookie evaluation. And I'm not convinced that even closely resembles what I'm feeling now," she said candidly.

"You don't have to prove something to me, Andy." Sarah turned back to the refrigerator, giving Andy a moment with her thoughts. "If anything, weekends away are prime time for reflection, right?"

She fiddled with the cap of the mustard bottle before setting it down and speaking again. "If it's right, it's right. Take it from an old married lady. Will broke down my walls."

She looked at Andy significantly. "There are only a select few who can penetrate the Swarek battle armor."

* * *

><p>After a leisurely afternoon and a nice, homemade dinner on Will and Sarah's deck, Andy was significantly more relaxed. When the men offered to do the dishes and clean up the kitchen, Sarah sent the girls up to prepare for bed and invited Andy into the living room for an after-dinner drink.<p>

She passed a beer to Andy before settling into the sofa cushions.

"He has a hard time opening up to anyone, even me," she began conversationally. Studying Andy's reaction, she added, "Although I'm sure that's not news."

Andy shook her head, indicating as such. "No, that's not news. He's always been a great listener, though. And he's always there when it matters."

Sarah nodded. "That sounds like him." She hesitated before adding, "And you probably know this by now, but Sam doesn't exactly 'casually date.' There's obviously something special about you." Taking a long pull of her beer, she eyed Andy intently. "You don't seem the type to take advantage of people for personal or professional gain. I'd like to think I read people fairly well."

"Thank you," Andy responded sincerely. Taking a breath, she added, "If I'm being honest – I don't know, I thought we would be having an ominous talk about you hunting me down if I hurt your brother." The corners of her mouth tugged into a wry smile. "I just – I want _you_ to know how important he is to me, and how much I'm invested in this relationship."

"You two are adults, and it's certainly not my responsibility to chaperone you, nor is it my desire to make idle threats." Sarah smiled genuinely. "Besides, I like to save my menacing tone for special occasions: When the girls track mud through the house, when Will unplugs the coffee pot but leaves the power switch on, when Sam returns from UC underweight, exhausted, and looking like he's been through the ringer." She paused thoughtfully. "Although if I would have realized a girl had the power to keep him around, I would have created a profile for him on one of those dating websites a long time ago," she offered seriously.

The two locked eyes, and seconds later, the room erupted in laughter. The tension that had been palpable minutes before dissipated.

Catching Andy's expression, she laughed aloud again. "I'm kidding. Can you even imagine what kind of train wreck that profile would be? 'Hi, my name is Sam Swarek. I like guns, progressive rock, and monosyllabic words. I prefer long undercover stints to long walks on the beach, and if you make the mistake of talking to me before I've had a cup of coffee, you deserve what you get, dumbass.' And anyway, the profile would be up for .07 seconds before Sam discovered it and used some sneaky police means to remove it from said website."

Andy gasped for air in between guffaws. "I hope you have a default photo in mind. Maybe one of him smiling? He didn't do that a lot when we first met."

"Yeah, yeah, he has a 'reputation' to maintain. Grimacing just adds to the image," Sarah deadpanned.

The two women chuckled until Sam reentered the room. Exchanging a quick glance, they struggled to maintain their giggles. "Speak of the devil…"

* * *

><p>To their credit, Hannah and Abby had impeccable timing and raced into the room before Andy and Sarah were forced to explain their antics. Hannah said her goodnights and went straight to her bed for "ten more minutes of reading," but it was Abby that captured Andy's attention.<p>

"Mommy, my teefs are bwushed. Can Uncle Sam tell me a stowy now?"

"Well, honey, you have to ask Uncle Sam that."

Pajama-clad Abby jumped at the chance. "Stowy time, pwease?" she asked, tugging on Sam's jeans.

A pouty lip and pleading eyes did the trick. Thirty seconds later, Sam was leading his niece up the stairs by the hand with the promise of _mo' Avewy_, a continuing account of the exploits of an eight-year old girl and her siblings.

"You wouldn't know it, but my brother has an incredible flair for storytelling. Each time he visits, he weaves a brilliant story centered on Avery and her adventures. It's not a surprise that he is good at undercover work; he has a talent for immersing himself in imaginary worlds, I suppose."

"That's really sweet. I had no idea."

"Just one of his many secrets." Sarah sighed contentedly. "It's nice to see him again. It's nice to see him _at peace_ again."

She allowed a tiny smile to grace her features before turning toward Andy. "It's been a while since he's looked like that. You know, I really should send you a fruit basket. I like this version of Sam."

* * *

><p>The rest of the weekend flew by in a blur. Breakfast the next morning was a leisurely affair, spent drinking coffee and eating Sarah's fluffy chocolate chip pancakes, which according to Sam, "were half the reason he made the drive to St. Catharine's, anyway." Ducking to avoid the dish towel that sailed in his direction, he couldn't avoid the subsequent cuff on the back of his head when Sarah placed the loaded plate in front of him.<p>

"You're lucky I still like you after all these years, little brother."

Andy smiled genuinely, content to observe their normal brother-sister interaction. It wasn't the first time that she wished she had a sister or brother with whom to share memories. There was something beautiful and understated about the way Sam and Sarah worked in tandem, teasing and laughing, anticipating words or movements and sneaking hidden smiles when they thought the other wasn't looking. The affection between the two siblings was obvious, and for Andy, it was a gift to witness. Rarely had she seen Sam so relaxed and happy.

Sam and Andy had promised to take the girls to the park, so after brunch, they pulled on their coats and boots. The sun was high in the sky when they made it to the park, and thus began a wild afternoon of lava tag, slides, and swings.

Sam was merciless when he was "it," chasing down Andy with the enthusiasm and gusto of an officer apprehending a fleeing suspect. The girls did their part, cheering, shrieking, and issuing warnings of "Quick! He's coming!" Climbing through kid-size tunnels on the playground, Abby and Hannah managed to escape, but Andy wasn't so lucky. Those same tunnels were significantly more difficult for adults to climb through, and moments later, she found herself caught in the cage of Sam's arms.

"Gotcha," he whispered in her ear. "I think I'd like to keep you here. Does that sound amenable?"

She laughed, turning in his arms to face his chest. "I think I like being caught." She stood on her tiptoes as if to kiss to his cheek, but as his arms relaxed their grip, she slipped free from his embrace.

Running toward the girls' hideout at top speed, she called over her shoulder. "Better luck next time, Swarek. You're not gonna catch me again!"

* * *

><p>A few hours later the group returned home, winded and breathless, but pleased with their adventures for the day. Sarah had coffee waiting for Sam and Andy in two hot thermoses, ready to take on the road. For their part, Andy and Sam were reluctant to leave, but both knew it was best to get a head start on the drive.<p>

When it was time to say their goodbyes, Hannah and Abby hugged and kissed Sam enthusiastically, begging him to come back soon. After doing so, Abby tugged on Andy's hand and beckoned her close.

"Bye," she whispered, linking her small arms around Andy's neck. A minute later, she added, "I hope I'm pwetty like you when I gwow up."

"Bye, sweetie," Andy replied quietly. "I hope I get to see you again soon. And you have to be the prettiest four year old I know, so don't you worry."

Sarah said goodbye to Sam before gesturing to the truck, instructing him to heat the cab before his 'special lady friend' got inside. When Sam had left the porch, Sarah pulled Andy into a tight hug before whispering in her ear, not unlike Abby.

"He doesn't say much, but he feels… a lot. It's unrealistic to think that two people who _feel_ so strongly will be problem-free."

She paused before continuing. "I could tell you not to hurt him, but if I'm being honest, I'm sure he'll piss you off from time to time, and you'll do the same to him. People in love tend to do that."

Andy's face balked at Sarah's turn of phrase. _People in love_…?

Sensing the tension in Andy's shoulders, Sarah released her before stepping back and meeting Andy's questioning eyes. She searched Andy's face, and then shrugged. "Call it what you will. I'll call it like I see it."

Softening her gaze, Sarah squeezed Andy's hand lightly. "I have faith in you guys. Sometimes all it takes is a little faith."

"Take care, Andy. And come back soon."

* * *

><p>"So was it as scary as you thought it was going to be?" Sam asked hours later, as they were curled on his couch.<p>

Andy smiled. "No." She groaned before admitting, "You were right. I really like Sarah. And Will and the girls were great."

"Say that again?"

"Sarah was wonderful."

"No, no, the part about me being right."

She laughed loudly, freely. "Always looking for an ego boost, aren't you?" She paused before linking her fingers through his hand. "I'm really glad we visited them."

He grinned. "You were great with the girls this weekend."

"So were you, Uncle Sam," she replied, and after a moment, burst into laughter.

He feigned offense, poking her in the ribs. "What?"

"I can't get over it. It's just that Uncle Sam sounds so American. Like I'm on my way to enlist."

He gave her question careful thought. "Well, I do _want_ _you_. But not for the army, I'm afraid."

"Oh, that's too bad," she said with mock-sympathy, not looking remotely disappointed.

"Isn't it though?" he replied, covering her mouth with his.

A minute later, she broke away from him, giggling again.

"There is something seriously sexy about a guy who is good with kids, Sam. One of these days, some lady is going to want to scoop you up."

"Hmm," he murmured, peppering her jaw with kisses. "Then it's a good thing I'm pretty attached to my girlfriend."

Andy nodded her head seriously. "You're right. I hear she's the jealous type, and word on the street is that she carries a gun."

"Sounds pretty intimidating."

"_I_ wouldn't mess with her. Let's hope other women get that memo, too."

Sam chuckled before tugging her close again. "Thanks for coming this weekend."

"Thanks for letting me, Sam."

Andy studied Sam's face for a moment, allowing her mind to focus briefly on Sarah's parting words. She sighed, snuggling into his side. An unbidden image of a family came to mind, and for the first time in years, she didn't push it away.

Those were conversations, thoughts, and dreams for another day, but it didn't hurt to imagine the possibility.

* * *

><p><strong>Any and all reviews would be sincerely appreciated - This chapter was a toughie to write, and I'm a little hesitant about the result.<strong>

**Thank you, as always, for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks again for another wonderful round of reviews, alerts, and favorites on the previous chapter. It truly is a gift to hear from you!**

**Now, on to the story. Readers with extra-sensitive teeth, beware. We've got some serious fluff on deck.**

**The following scenes take place February 13****th****-15****th****.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue.**

* * *

><p><strong>First illness.<strong>

His shoulders shook as another thunderous cough rattled his frame. Clearing his throat for the eighth time in as many minutes, Sam exhaled harshly and rubbed his temples. It had been a long afternoon.

Leaning back in her chair, Andy winced as the sound echoed throughout the station. She knew she had to pick her battles, but this was ridiculous. "Sam, _I really think_ you need to go home."

He looked up from behind his desk, visibly irritated. "Andy, _I really think_ that I have a job to do," he replied, mimicking her intonation.

His shoulders were tight, his face, drawn, and she could tell that he was struggling to focus. _Likely because his body is rundown_, she thought, although she knew he would deny it.

She raised her eyebrows before answering carefully, "You can't serve and protect with a crappy immune system."

"My immune system is just fine, thank you," he sputtered, his voice catching as another cough rocked his body.

"Mm-hmm," said Andy, resting her chin on her hand as she took in the scene before her. "Clearly."

He scowled in response. Flipping through a stack of manila folders, he attempted to concentrate on the present task, but he found himself in a losing battle with the inside of his eyelids. Sighing, he rubbed at his eyes and checked his wristwatch for the hundredth time that afternoon.

"Get a grip, Swarek," Andy said teasingly. "Everybody gets sick. It's not the end of the world."

He slumped on top of his pile of paperwork. "I don't wanna argue, Andy; I'm not in the mood."

"Neither am I." She rubbed his back gently as she moved past him, walking to the cooler to refill her water bottle. "And if we continue this argument, you're going to lose."

He was silent, too exhausted to respond with a cutting retort.

Andy returned to his desk and observed him for a moment, taking note of the bags under his eyes and the perspiration at his brow. Placing the water bottle in front of him, she spoke firmly. "Hydrate." As she shuffled back to her own desk, she added lightly, "Don't make me get Frank. I will, you know."

He groaned. "I'll be fine. I'll finish this shift, and then I'll go home and sleep it off."

She fixed him with a stern glare before nodding in assent. "I'm driving you home, and then I'm taking your truck and going to the store."

"But –"

"End of discussion, Sam."

* * *

><p>After dropping Sam off with strict instructions to take a shower and put on comfy pajamas, Andy returned to his house an hour later, laden down with bags from the neighborhood drugstore. Tiptoeing inside, she found Sam lying on the couch, dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing when he left the precinct. He was snoring audibly, stretched across the worn material of the couch.<p>

Hearing the congestion in his chest, she cringed and made her way to the kitchen, prepared to fight the battle against invading viruses. She began to unload the groceries, taking care to make them easily accessible. Tissues with aloe, nighttime and daytime cold medicine, vitamins, cough syrup, decongestant rub, lozenges, orange juice, hot tea, honey, and a few pairs of thick, cushy wool socks. She laughed at the small pharmacy on the counter, knowing that Sam would complain as soon as he saw her stockpile.

Heating a stove pan, she resolved to fix him some canned soup for dinner. When she had time, she'd whip out the Crockpot and chop some of the vegetables she had just purchased. _There's nothing quite like homemade chicken soup to cure what ails you._ Shuffling around in the kitchen, she heard Sam start to stir in the next room.

Poking her head out of the kitchen, she called out to him. "I bought some socks. You can have one of the pairs; the others are for me." Smiling at his sleepy, disheveled appearance, she added, "All these hardwood floors freeze my feet in the morning."

Her smile faded as she noted the grimace on his face. "So how are you doing, champ?"

"Good," he murmured, scrubbing his face with his hand. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing much. Unpacking groceries, making you soup, waiting for you to wake up, Mr. 'I Promise I'll Shower.'" As an afterthought, she added, "And eating conversation hearts, which are surprisingly tasty precursors to dinner. Okay, actually, it isn't that surprising."

"I'm not hungry," he automatically responded. His brain worked to catch up with the rest of his body, and after rubbing his eyes tiredly, he suddenly sat up straight and groaned. "_Conversation hearts_. Conversation hearts because tomorrow is February 14th."

She grinned. "I see you haven't lost those keen powers of deduction, officer."

He groaned again as the timing of his illness sunk in. "We're supposed to be going out for Valentine's Day tomorrow. _Damn it_."

She would have laughed openly if he didn't seem so distraught. "Sam Swarek, suddenly concerned about a notoriously girly holiday? You _are_ sick."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not a total Neanderthal, McNally. But thanks for the vote of confidence. I wasn't saying I love the holiday – if you can even call it that – but, you know, I did have plans for us."

"Really?"

"Yes, _really_. You don't need to sound so shocked." He started to mutter under his breath, and Andy only caught snippets of what sounded like, "Stupid fake holiday. Stupid plans."

She smiled, secretly touched that he had made an effort to make the day special for her. Walking over to the couch, she attempted to put him at ease. "I am quite aware that Valentine's Day is propagated by the consumer-driven market, intent on stealing millions of dollars from poor saps and demanding girls. That being said, I'm not going to deny that I like being spoiled on Valentine' Day."

He _harrumphed_ noncommittally, slumping further into the couch.

"_But_," she continued, "Your health is more important to me than keeping Hallmark and Ghirardelli in business. I'm not going to abandon you because I'm distraught that our potential dinner plans are ruined."

Sam was silent, but she could read the conflicting emotion in his eyes.

"Hey." Leaning across the sofa, she waited until he gave her his full attention. "It was really sweet of you to make plans for us. Thank you. But I want you to focus on getting better, ok?"

She grabbed his hand, dragging him to a standing position. "And listen up. If you're not going to eat dinner, you need to sleep, and I'm not going to let you fall asleep on the couch." She graced him with a familiar smile and wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him toward the stairs. "I can be pretty bossy when I want to be. You're going to bed. No arguments."

He leaned into her begrudgingly, sighing quietly.

"No slightly off-color comment about me taking you to bed?" she wondered aloud. "Geez, you really are sick."

He gave a weak chuckle that promptly turned into a cough. Stumbling on the steps, he leaned against her heavily. "You know, I've always had this thing for nurses…"

"There it is," she noted, before adding in a firm voice, "Cool your jets, Romeo." She ushered him into his room, pulling the bedspread back and indicating that he should sit. Rummaging through his drawers, she pulled out a clean pair of sweatpants and an Academy t-shirt. After adjusting the room temperature, she tossed the clothes toward him and moved inside the adjacent bathroom.

He raised his arms hopefully. "Aren't you gonna help me?"

Pausing amidst her ransack of the bathroom cabinets, she walked back inside of the bedroom. She stifled a laugh at his expression, two parts helpless and one part expectant. "No funny business," she said sternly, picking up the t-shirt.

"No funny business," he echoed innocently. His pale face all but undermined his attempts at a roguish smirk.

After helping him change, she moved the contents of the medicine cabinet onto his nightstand. "So the tissues, Nyquil, and water are all within arm's reach. The kitchen in also fully stocked with tried-and-true cold remedies." She ran a hand across his cheek. "I'll be in the spare room if you need me, okay?"

At her words, his face sobered. "You should go home. Seriously, the last thing I want to do is get you sick."

"I'm staying," she said firmly. "And lucky for me, if it comes down to a physical confrontation, I _will_ win, no contest. You've lost your edge, Rocky."

He settled into the pillows and Andy leaned forward to brush his forehead with a quick kiss. "Feel better, please."

His eyelids grew heavy, no doubt from the exertion of the day. He smiled weakly before he pulled the top sheet around his shoulders. "You got it, Adrian."

"Good." She started to walk out, pausing abruptly at the door. "And don't worry about setting an alarm. I already talked to Frank, and you're not going in tomorrow."

"What?"

"You need time to recover." She leaned across the doorframe to turn off the light switch. "Goodnight."

* * *

><p>At half-past ten the following morning, Sam stumbled into his kitchen to find Andy sitting at the breakfast table, a cup of coffee in hand and a half-eaten piece of toast within reach. She was dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, humming quietly to herself as she rifled through the day's newspaper.<p>

He blinked furiously, sensing something didn't quite add up. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?"

"I cashed in a personal day." She took a quick inventory of his appearance: His nose was red, nearly raw, and his face was paler than she had ever seen. Standing up, she placed a cool hand to his forehead and noted his clammy skin. "Not so much better, huh?" she asked.

"Andy," he huffed. "I'm fine. Go to work."

She looked at him dubiously. "Too late for that. And apparently, your finesse at lying is compromised when you're sick. You look like hell."

A lesser man would have stuck his tongue out at her. Sam settled for rolling his eyes.

"I went to the store again earlier this morning," she continued, ignoring his reaction. "Do you think you can stomach anything? You really should eat something if you're going to be taking ibuprofen."

"I'll eat something if you promise to be on your merry way."

"Nice try."

"I'm f…"

"You're fine, I get it," she interjected. Rubbing his arm, she added, "You know, sometimes I think we're more similar than you realize. As in, I don't buy for a second that you are actually 'fine.'"

"Sit," she instructed, pointing to a chair. "I'll fix you breakfast."

As Sam settled into the chair, Andy bustled around the kitchen, pouring him a glass of orange juice and sliding a bag of cough drops in his direction. "How's your congestion? Does your chest feel tight?"

He gazed into the distance before sighing, nodding sharply.

"How about your nose?"

"Leaking like a faucet."

"Do you have an afghan lying around?"

Even in illness, he managed to look at Andy as if she were delusional. "Do I look like the kind of guy that owns an afghan?"

She shrugged unrepentantly. "You are a man of many secrets, Sam Swarek. I've only just begun to uncover them."

Placing eggs and a piece of toast in front of him, she ordered, "Eat up."

He sighed, picking up the fork with an injured look on his face. "Aren't you supposed to be a little nicer to me?"

She raised her chin in the air, her words laced with indignation. "I'll be a little nicer when you start listening."

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later, Sam was wrapped in a fleece blanket and lying languidly across the couch. Frustrated with the selection of daytime television and annoyed that he couldn't convince Andy to leave, he tossed the remote sullenly and watched her move about the room with practiced ease. If you asked him, she had an altogether too enthusiastic bedside manner.<p>

She felt, rather than saw, his eyes on her. "No pity parties, Swarek," she commented lightly.

Looking properly chagrined, he muttered, "I'm not _trying_ to be a grump. And I _am_ sorry we're missing our first Valentine's Day together."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," she replied cheerily, spinning to face him.

He gestured toward the coffee table, littered with drugstore remedies. "Really, Andy? We have a bottle of cold medicine instead of a bottle of wine, chewable Vitamin C tablets instead of chocolate, and _you_ brought _me_ flowers, which I still don't understand."

Andy took a glance at the gerbera daisies that currently occupied the end table. She smiled before turning back to Sam.

"They make a room feel brighter, Sam. Sometimes you have to coach your body back to health. It's as much in your mind as it is in your body."

He scoffed. "Yeah, okay."

"Besides, we're together. Isn't that what matters most?"

If Sam Swarek were capable of pouting, he would have. Instead, he crossed his arms across his chest and said in an exasperated voice, "I'd rather not share my germs with you."

"Poor baby," Andy teased, gently stroking his forehead. "The good news is you're just as pig-headed when you're sick as you are when you're healthy. You haven't lost your touch."

He grumbled in response.

"Do you want to watch a movie, sicky?" she asked lightly.

"I _want _my head to stop pounding. I _want_ to be able to breathe normally. I _want_ to spend time with my girlfriend, unhindered by mucus and fever and coughing fits."

"Ugh, you lost me at mucus," Andy said, shuddering.

"This wasn't what today was supposed to be like," he countered.

"Oh, yeah?" she replied, humoring him.

He closed his eyes as Andy lifted his legs and slipped under them, settling next to him on the couch.

"Today was supposed to be about you."

"Hmm, and what did you have planned?"

"I got tickets."

"Tickets?" she said, nonplussed, before realization dawned. "_Ohmigod _you didn't."

He was silent, but she could see the light in his eyes.

"Sam, tell me you didn't."

A tiny grin threatened to escape his lips. "I know how much you love _Mary Poppins_. Well, I know how much you love Julie Andrews, and by extension, anything related to the world of _Mary Poppins_."

"_Saaammm," _she said, drawing out the word. "Why didn't you say something before?"

"That would ruin the very nature of surprise, McNally." He murmured something unintelligible before sweeping his arm across the back of the couch. "But now you know. 7:30pm, Princess of Wales Theatre, Dress Circle A," he finished.

"You are too sweet," she whispered, pulling him to her. He flipped over on his side, settling his head on her lap as she began to run her fingers through his hair. "Seriously, if you make me cry, I'll punch you."

"I am sweet," he teased weakly. "And you can't punch an invalid; that would be heartless."

She giggled before latching on to his previous comment, her eyebrows raising in surprise. "So you _are_ willing to admit that you're sick?"

"Yes," he replied emphatically. "I fold." He opened his eyes to look at her, and then adopted a serious tone. "You should still go. Call your dad, see if he's free. I'm sure as hell not going in this condition, and it would be a shame to waste two good seats."

She looked at him with a sad smile on her lips. "Sam, I can't."

He interrupted her protests. "Yes, you can. And you will. Because it would make me happy." He poked her side before sitting up and grabbing a tissue.

"I'm hopping in the shower. Call Tommy." He fixed her with a stern look. "I'll be fine for a couple hours on my own. I've managed to survive many illnesses before without a round-the-clock attendant. _Imagine that_."

She hesitated. "I don't know, Sam…" He still looked worse for wear, and it didn't look like his condition was going to change anytime soon.

"Please?" he added, flashing his trademark grin.

Andy inhaled sharply. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she looked at him disapprovingly. "That is a direct manipulation of your God-given features. You should be ashamed of yourself. You're not fighting fair."

"All's fair in…" he cut himself off, eyes widening. "In this situation," he finished.

Oblivious to his abrupt change of tone, Andy relaxed her shoulders, fixed the impromptu couch-bed, and pushed Sam in the direction of the bathroom.

"Fine," she conceded. "I'll call my dad. But I get to baby you for the next six hours."

Tossing him a clean towel from the fresh pile of clothes she had laundered, she persisted, "Now get in the shower. I'm going to make you a cup of tea."

He sighed, relieved that she had agreed. "Deal."

* * *

><p>Hours later and whistling a pretty tune in her head, Andy crept into Sam's bedroom to find him sleeping soundly. Slipping off her heels and tossing them in the spare bedroom, she returned downstairs to find a bouquet of roses and a red envelope sitting on the coffee table. The envelope had "Andy" written across the front in Sam's signature scrawl.<p>

She opened the card to find a picture of a cartoonish-looking police officer, twirling a pair of handcuffs on his index finger.

Inside, was written: "You've arrested my heart. Happy Valentine's Day." Laughing at the overt cheesiness of the card, she quickly sobered when she saw what Sam had written underneath.

_I'm glad you were a little overeager. Thanks for being such a wonderful part of my life._

_-Sam_

Tears pooled in her eyes as she pictured Sam selecting the card. It was alarming, really, how easily he could get under her skin. Silent for a moment, she traced the outline of his penmanship and leaned in to smell the flowers. Fragrant and lovely, as expected. Even when Mother Nature had him winded and wheezing, he really knew how to treat a girl...

She wiped her eyes furiously as she heard a floorboard creak above her head. A moment later, Sam appeared at the top of the steps.

"Hey," he mumbled sleepily. "I was just coming to get another dose. How was the show?"

As he shuffled down the stairs, Andy observed him closely. His hair was sticking up comically, his t-shirt was wrinkled, and he was squinting in the dim light of the hallway.

She had never seen him look so good.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, she pulled him into a fierce hug, overlooking the possible spread of germs. Gingerly he wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back lightly as she burrowed into his shoulder. He smelled of menthol and laundry detergent, and even though he was sick, she couldn't help but linger in his embrace.

After a long moment, she raised her head to look at him. Gesturing to the coffee table, she asked, "Did you go out to get these? I swear, Sam…"

That statement elicited a chuckle from him. "No, I didn't disobey your orders, Doctor. They have this nifty little thing called 'delivery' these days. And I picked out the card a week ago. I do plan for some things, you know."

She shook her head before scolding him, "Delivery is probably ridiculously expensive on Valentine's Day. You shouldn't have." Faux-annoyance aside, she was working overtime to prevent a blinding smile from claiming permanent residence on her face.

Leading him over to the couch, she walked to the kitchen to retrieve the cold medicine. After scrubbing her hands at the sink, she grabbed a tablespoon from the silverware drawer and returned to the couch, handing Sam the bottle and the spoon.

She waited until he had swallowed the dark red syrup before speaking again. "Thank you," she said quietly. "For everything. I –"

Her voice wavered, and she struggled to catch her breath. "I really am grateful for you, Sam. You mean so much to me, and all of this…" She waved her hands around the room, to the flowers, and the card, and the _Mary Poppins_ program sitting on the table. "All of this is extraordinary, really."

Leaning in, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Her muffled voice met his ears as she softly repeated, "Thank you," against his neck.

He cleared his throat and simply said, "Anytime, McNally." His voice was gravelly from sleep and his sore throat – or so he would have argued – but the hard swallow that accompanied his admission seemed to suggest something else. "Maybe next time we can legitimately spend a holiday together? We don't have the best track record so far."

She laughed lowly. "Agreed. Now how 'bout I tuck you in and we can talk more in the morning?"

Slipping his arm around her, he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good."

* * *

><p>When Sam woke up the next morning, he was feeling remarkably better. His head was significantly less fuzzy, his chest pain had eased, and he could breathe through his nostrils again. Reaching for the glass of water on his bedside table, he was perplexed when his hand found a cupcake instead.<p>

Decorated in light pink frosting, the cupcake was covered with four conversation hearts. Reading from left to right, he made out the following message:

**Dear One**

**I Miss U**

**And**

**Only You**

On his nightstand was a red arrow, pointing in the direction of the door.

Sliding out of bed, he padded over to the door, silently shaking his head. _Andy. _She must have stayed up half the night to make it; she certainly hadn't been baking before he went to bed_. _Swinging the door open, he found another cupcake at the top of the stairs. This one was covered in white frosting, with the following message:

**U R a 10**

**So Fine**

**I'm Sure**

A sparkly pink arrow, clearly cut from construction paper and covered in glitter, pointed down the steps to the first floor. He bit his lip, amazed at her dedication to such a ridiculous holiday. Per the arrow's instructions, he headed down the stairs.

The next cupcake was covered in familiar pink frosting and was resting on top of the windowsill next to the front door. The liner – appropriately Valentine's Day themed, featuring cherubic little angels with bows and hearts – was both eye-catching and cringe-inducing. He studied it for a moment, before reading the succession of conversation hearts on the top of the cake.

**Be True**

**Be Kind **

**Be Mine**

The arrow next to this cupcake directed him toward the kitchen, and Sam began to wonder just how long Andy had spent designing the treasure hunt. A brief smile lit his features as he pictured her gleefully placing the treats along this path. He was almost positive she had added the glitter to the arrows just to spite him. _Man oh man_, if Ollie could see him now...

Well, if Oliver could see him, he would never hear the end of it.

Crossing the foyer into the kitchen, he spied another carefully adorned cupcake. Sitting on the kitchen counter, it made its home next to the vase of roses from the night before. He laughed outright at the message before him.

**Let's Kiss**

**My Man**

The final arrow directed him to the dining room table, where a cupcake with chocolate frosting sat. From his vantage point in the dining room, he could see Andy's form, stretched out across the couch in the adjacent room and snuggled under a blanket.

The last cupcake held three hearts with words that had been rubbed off, leaving a "10," a "4" and a question mark.

**10-4?**

He stifled a bark of laughter and moved closer to the couch, sneaking a glimpse of Andy. She was breathing heavily, regularly, but that wasn't what gave him cause to smile – Even from a distance, he could tell that she had frosting smudged across her cheek. She really was something else.

Retreating briefly to the kitchen, he grabbed the open bag of conversation hearts and sorted through potential responses. Settling on a tiny purple heart, he made his way back to the living room.

Slinking over to the couch, quiet as a mouse, he leaned over her frame and brought his mouth to hers.

It worked for those Disney princes, right?

Hovering above her, he shook his head, only slightly ashamed of the reference his own mind had just made. _Whoever said it's impossible for men to change… They were appallingly wrong._ _The things you do for a girl…_

Gently, lightly, he grazed her lips.

She blinked, once, twice, and her eyes focused on him. Raising her arms to slide around his neck, she sleepily murmured "Good morning," intent on returning his early-morning present.

Anticipating her movement, Sam caught her arm as it moved toward his neck. Gripping her wrist lightly, he forced her palm to open and placed the tiny purple heart inside. Fisting his own hand around hers, he nuzzled her nose sweetly before leaning in to kiss her again.

When they finally paused for some much-needed air, Andy opened her hand and laughed at the message inside.

One word was printed on the tiny, purple piece of candy.

_**Awesome.**_

* * *

><p><strong>Two for one - First Valentine's Day and first illness! Hope you enjoyed a peek into Sam's sweeter side.<strong>

**Thank you, as always, for reading. I'm off to brush my teeth...**


	8. Chapter 8

**The responses to this story continue to amaze me! Thank you for reading, and a special thank you to those readers who take the time to share their thoughts and offer suggestions. I'm truly grateful.**

**The following scene takes place at the end of February.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue. I do own a travel mug.**

* * *

><p><strong>First injury.<strong>

They had settled into a routine quite nicely on days when both worked the early shift. Sam would pick Andy up at her house, an hour before parade was scheduled. It was an unspoken rule of sorts. Pulling onto her street, Sam would leave the truck idling as he hopped from the driver's side to greet her. Kissing her soundly, he would reach for one of two hot thermoses in her hand, accepting the coffee she had brewed that morning. Black coffee in the beige travel mug, coffee with a splash of cream and two sugars in the silver mug. The colors differentiated the contents after the first week, when Sam had selected the wrong mug and spat out his first gulp, effectively spraying the steering wheel and the front of his jeans.

Hilarious as the moment was, Andy was careful to abide by the color code after that. Privately, she thought he overreacted – just a tad - but it was better to nod sympathetically and appease his wounded expression.

Their routine, like their mugs, was consistent. Clutching his coffee, Sam would use his free hand to open the passenger side door and usher her into the truck. She had asked him – or rather, confronted him – about his actions after the first few times it happened.

"I can open my own doors, you know."

"I know."

"It would be just as easy to pass you _your_ cup and then open the door with _my_ free hand."

"I know."

"I'm just saying, we could save a little bit of time. You have to round the front of the truck anyway; if I open my own door, you can already be on your way to putting the truck in gear."

"It takes three seconds, and I like opening doors, okay, McNally? Cut me a break," he said, with a note of exasperation.

She let the door thing slide.

Andy, like Sam, had learned to pick her battles. She couldn't deny that she loved the delighted little grin he gave her every time he shut the door, before schooling his features in an unmistakably "Couldn't be bothered" fashion. If he liked opening doors so much, she wouldn't argue.

She may have had her own tiny grin that matched his.

Sam and Andy had adopted another code as well. Per Frank's instructions, they were strictly professional at work; when addressing one another, they spoke warmly but kept their distance. They hadn't been partnered since the UC ordeal, but they managed to work on numerous cases together with little fanfare. Of course, she missed the long days on-shift with Sam, talking and ribbing and patrolling. Frank hadn't banned the partnership outright, but for the duration of their probation, they rode separately.

It was another reason why Andy loved their morning drive to the Division.

After Andy buckled her seatbelt, she would inch her fingers toward Sam's. Keeping his eyes on the road, he would casually drop his hand on top of hers, linking their fingers together. Sometimes they would talk, but other times they would sit quietly for the length of the ride, remaining silent even after Sam had pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine.

It was two weeks later when she realized that by holding her hand, he was forfeiting his ability to drink his coffee – beyond the first sip – until he reached the station. She tackled the next conversation with more vehemence.

"Drink your coffee."

"I can wait. It's only fifteen minutes."

"Traci and Dov are my friends. I will not release you into their company until you have first consumed 16 ounces of coffee. You are much cheerier then."

"They're big kids, Andy. You don't have to fight their battles."

"And you're much more pleasant when properly caffeinated. It's in everybody's best interest."

She cocked one eyebrow, daring him to argue. "I'm invoking the 'protect' part of our oath, anyway."

After that, they rode with Andy's hand on his knee.

It only got them into trouble once – er, twice.

* * *

><p>The day had started off normally enough; Sam and Andy rode into work together for the early shift - separating after parade - and Sam had spent the better part of the day in a squad car with Nash.<p>

There were a few routine stops, one attempted but thwarted B&E, but all in all, it was a quiet Friday afternoon. The division had gotten wind of a potential drug bust and dispatched a few officers, but Sam and Traci were not among those instructed to go. Instead, they circled their designated streets, grabbed coffee to-go, and made it through the shift unscathed. Nash was calm and collected most of the time, and she wasn't keen on unnecessary small talk. She and Sam got along well, all things considering. He didn't ask about Jerry, she refrained from talking about Andy, but they managed to share a few laughs over Leo's most recent antics. _Sam had nieces_; Andy had insisted one evening over margaritas to Traci, _he could relate_.

Locking the cruiser doors and bidding Traci goodnight, Sam entered the men's locker room with one thought on his mind: The next Poker Night. He, Ollie, and Jerry were long overdue for a game, and he had told Ollie in parade that morning that they'd discuss options over drinks at the Penny. Glancing around the room, he hoped to locate Shaw, but he was no where to been seen. Shrugging, Sam grabbed a towel from his locker and headed to the showers. Hopefully he could find Ollie on the way out.

Ten minutes later, Sam was fully dressed, but there was still no sign of Oliver. Catching sight of Diaz emerging from the shower, Sam called out to him.

"Diaz! You seen Shaw?"

Chris's brow furrowed, as if he were confused by the question. "Wait, you didn't hear?"

Sam returned his look with a bewildered expression of his own. "Hear what?" Light dawned as he realized who Ollie was partnered with that morning – _Andy_. Narrowing his eyes, Sam repeated, "Hear what? Spit it out, Diaz."

Chris swallowed hard before answering. "It's just that Oliver and McNally were working booking today – Frank called them off patrol after lunch because of a big bust, so they came in to book, and well, you know we don't wear the Kevlar when we book." He looked to Sam for confirmation, clearly grasping at straws. "Um, one of the new recruits uncuffed a guy, but he didn't follow procedure and the guy escaped –"

"What?" Sam said slowly, elongating the syllable.

"Yeah, he tried to make a run for it," explained Diaz, oblivious to Sam's darkening expression. "Like he had a chance," he scoffed audibly, shaking his head at the criminal's naiveté.

"But anyway, Andy was over by the door. He managed to shove her out of the way; got one good kick into her chest before he tried to bolt. Officers restrained him, Andy got up, no buses called, but Shaw took her to the hospital to get checked out. Guy was wearing heavy boots, and she did something to her wrist, I think," he finished.

"And when did all of this happen?"

"An hour ago. It was all inside the division, so no radios went out. Andy didn't even want to go to the hospital but Frank insisted. Said he would call a bus if she didn't agree to go with Shaw."

Sam forced himself to keep his breathing in check. "Any updates?"

"Not that I'm aware of." Hazarding a glance at Sam, Chris hastily added, "Sir."

"St. Mike's?" he replied, slamming his locker shut.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

><p>Ten minutes and a hasty park job later, Sam was entering the hospital. Flashing his badge, he made his way to the front desk of Emergency Care. "I'm looking for a fellow officer, Andrea McNally? Came in an hour or two ago?"<p>

The nurse gave him a cursory glance before pointing down the hallway. Thanking her with a perfunctory smile, Sam turned on his heel and rushed toward the designated corridor.

"She's fine," a voice called across the hallway. "Two cracked ribs, and a sprained wrist; she tried to catch herself on the way down. She's gonna be fine."

He didn't bother to acknowledge his friend, not until Oliver persisted more vehemently.

"Sammy!" Shaw's voice had a sharper edge to it, one that finally captured Sam's attention. "Slow down. It's not going to do any good to go in, guns blazing."

Sam's eyes snapped to meet Oliver's, as he slowed his pace infinitesimally.

Oliver gave him the once-over. "I know you're worried. I know you need to see her. But Sammy, listen to me. She is _fine_. She'll be released in an hour, ride the desk for a week or two, and be back in business before you know it. You're not winning any points by going in there like a crazed lunatic."

Sam grimaced, pushing past his friend. "Shove off, Ollie."

"Hey!" Oliver's authoritative voice broke through Sam's reverie. "Do you think I'd be getting involved if I thought you two could handle yourself like adults? Mediation isn't exactly my forte, brother, and I sure as hell am not appointing myself Dr. Laura."

He lowered his voice as a nurse fixed the two men with a withering glare. "_But…_but I do know if you go in there all pissed off, you're going to say something you'll regret. And I'm not gonna deal with a morose best friend while McNally flits around like a nervous moth, trying to get answers from anyone who _breathes_ in your vicinity. I ride with her, Sam. I'm not going to mother her for the next two weeks while you figure out how to apologize."

Sam squinted into the distance, locking and unlocking his jaw before speaking. "You're a real jackass, you know that?"

"I know."

"You gonna write your own column in the _Sun _when all this is over?"

"Maybe," Oliver replied, his mouth twitching slightly. He clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "She's fine, and you'll be fine, brother. Talk it out before you fly off the handle."

* * *

><p>He exhaled loudly before squaring his shoulders and pushing the unit door open. His eyes immediately found Andy, who was re-buttoning her uniform shirt. A discarded hospital gown lay on the bed next to her.<p>

"Sam!" she said, surprised by the figure standing in the doorway. "You're here… I didn't think… Well, I thought I'd see you back at the station."

"Mmm," he said noncommittally, stepping toward her.

She side-stepped his arm, a guilty look splayed across her features. "How…How are you doing?"

Ignoring her question, Sam leaned in closely, examining her skin for shallow scratches or abrasions. "Ollie says you're fine." He lifted her chin with his knuckle, turning her face to the right and then to the left. _No bruising, thank God for that_. "Wrist? Ribs?"

"Both. Just a little sore. She held up her arm, twisting it gently in his direction. "Mild sprain, nothing more."

He studied her for a moment, dropping his hand from her chin before opening his mouth. He had intended to say _I'm glad you're okay_ and release the breath that he had been holding, but his brain had other ideas.

"So were you gonna tell me?" he asked, his voice tight and strained.

"What?" she said defensively, straightening. "Of course… Sam, of course I was."

His eyes roved over her body before settling on her face. "You sure about that?"

"Sam! Yes, yes, I was going to tell you, but I didn't want to cause any unnecessary stress while you were on patrol. If it had been really serious, Oliver would have called you right away."

He nodded once, slowly, before stepping back from the hospital bed. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he chose to fix his eyes on a spot above Andy's head. His voice was calm but laced with an undercurrent of frustration.

"So, an injury inside the division isn't serious? You have a brace and bandages, and it's not serious? Seems like it has the same end: Trip to the ED, a few weeks of recovery, desk-duty. Sounds pretty serious to me," he answered, no trace of humor in his voice. _Where was this anger coming from?_

She gazed at him steadily, her voice raising slightly. "Injuries are part of the job, Sam. We can't anticipate everything."

"I know," he said, laughing without mirth. "I know the statistics for traffic stops and B&Es and assault with a deadly weapon. I know that accidents happen, but if procedure is being followed, there is no reason for it to happen in booking."

He paused briefly, but not long enough for Andy to interject. "You could have called. Or texted. A quick, 'Scuffle at 15, Frank's having me checked out, just a precaution, I'm fine'? Something, anything, you know, to open that channel of communication?"

Her mouth set defiantly. "Really? You would have been content with a message like that?"

"I would have liked to know that my significant other was hurt, so... Yes, Andy."

"Did it occur to you that perhaps this is _not_ the crisis you're envisioning? I hoped to be back at Fifteen before you returned from patrol, and obviously I was planning to tell you."

He shook his head minutely, "Not good enough."

Her eyes flashed in response. "So hypothetically, if I would have contacted you… You're telling me you wouldn't have driven your cruiser immediately to the hospital to verify – _**against protocol**_, might I add, which a moment ago you seemed so keen on – to confirm I was okay? You would have been reassured by an abrupt line of text and an emoticon?"

"That's not the point," he said through gritted teeth.

"Then what is? Please, Sam, _enlighten_ me." She fidgeted, roughly re-braiding her hair as she waited for his response. When none came, she sighed and reached out to touch his shoulder.

"Sam, I don't want to fight," she said quietly. Exhaling deeply, she spoke in a pacifying tone. "I thought I would be discharged before shift was over. I would have been, if Emergency Care wasn't so backed up today. Seriously, it's nothing to fuss over."

He was silent.

"I'm as good as new" she reassured him, hopping away from the hospital bed. She winced as the slight jolt reverberated through her rib cage. "Well, almost."

"Do you have papers you need to sign?" he asked, not meeting her eyes. "If you're finished up here, let's go, ok?"

She shrank away from the cold edge in his voice, bewildered by his reaction. "Yeah, Oliver has my ID. He started filling out the paperwork."

"Good," Sam replied tonelessly. "Let's go find him."

* * *

><p>The ride to Andy's apartment was uncharacteristically silent. Andy's attempt at appearing composed – which included clearing her throat repeatedly and bouncing her leg up and down in the passenger seat – faded when Sam pulled onto her street. Shifting his gaze from the road to her twirling hands, situated in her lap, he waited for her to speak.<p>

She spoke tentatively, a question in her tone. "So, Sam…?"

"I had to find out from Diaz."

She exhaled slowly. "Yeah, I gathered as much."

He ran his hand behind his neck, reflecting on his locker room conversation. "He was as helpful as a broken fan on a hot summer day."

She turned to face him, eyes silently pleading. "It wasn't that big of a deal. Whatever Chris said, I'm sure he exaggerated it." Twisting her fingers through her hair, she added in a sulky tone, "Frank was the one to make me go to the hospital, anyway."

"And good thing he did; you can't just forget about fractured ribs and a sprained bone. You're lucky it's not your gun hand."

"Sam, I'm touched that you care, but really, please..." she broke off abruptly. "Please just let this go."

He laughed derisively. "Put yourself in my shoes, Andy. How would you feel? If you only knew that something had happened that required me to go to the hospital; if you had no details, no way to be sure I was okay?"

"I'm sorry, okay?" she murmured. She hesitated, before asking quietly, "Do you want to come inside?"

He stared off into the distance, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "I need some time."

"Um, ok," she responded, biting her lip. Try as she might, she couldn't mask the slight tremor in her voice, and Sam caught her body tensing in his peripheral.

He glanced briefly in her direction. "Not like _that_, Andy. Just…a few hours." Rubbing his face wearily, he added, "Listen, I'll call you later, alright?"

"Ok," she whispered. "Sam? I am sorry. But put yourself in _my_ shoes, just for a minute."

He nodded reluctantly. "Yeah."

"We'll talk later?"

He released the emergency brake and laid his hands back on the steering wheel. "Yeah."

* * *

><p>Sometime later, he found himself on Roncesvalles, parked outside the High Park library branch. The library was closed, but he found an open bench and sat down, reviewing the day in his head.<p>

Although few of his friends would guess, the library had been his refuge as a kid. They didn't have a TV at home, so on rainy days, he would mosey over to the branch and find a spot in the stacks. He learned the better half of his hockey knowledge from sports encyclopedias, and he was even known to pick up a _Hardy Boys _book once or twice. Of course, the idea of kid detectives, driving around in their friend's yellow jalopy, was ridiculous to him. He liked the action, though, even if it was formulaic. There was a certain magic to pinning the bad guys, after all.

Incidentally, his first exposure to the police force had been in the library. He had stumbled into a seminar taking place in one of the meeting rooms, and that was his first, up-close glimpse of the men in uniform. He didn't think much about it, not at the time, but he could never forget the authority with which they wore their navy blues. And when he realized that coppers could take down dealers and crooks and gangbangers? Well, then it was just a no-brainer.

On days when he couldn't go home, the shelves were a temporary escape. In his adult life, it became a nostalgic revisit to a part of his childhood, a part that remained untainted, unsullied by anger or absence or abuses. The library was a silent refuge, a place to be alone with his thoughts.

A place to reflect. No noise, no judgment, just stacks of books to get lost in.

He wasn't a big reader, not in the traditional sense of the phrase, but he was struck by the wealth of knowledge available at his fingertips, if he chose to procure it. When all else failed, the library could be counted on to have answers.

He sat until the sky had darkened and the wind picked up; he shifted restlessly, trying to reconcile his conflicting emotions. His relationship with Andy was complicated, and their status as colleagues even more so. Would he have told her immediately if he sustained minimal injuries? Would he have felt guilty if he didn't?

In some ways, it was easier when they were partners. He knew when something happened; he didn't have to hear about it secondhand.

Of course, their partnership made appropriate, detached responses more difficult. That was dangerous in the field. He couldn't always rely on his judgment; he had a bias, and she had too much influence on him.

When did relationships get so complicated?

_You didn't do relationships before, Sammy_, his inner monologue said snidely. _If you want it to work, you have to talk it out._

Right, because "talking it out" was his forte.

He sighed.

Nobody knew about the library. But a small part of him wanted Andy to, someday.

Talking wasn't his forte; he recognized his limits, his gaps. He would have to get better at it, he supposed, if this was going to work. It was a similar drive that compelled him to visit the firing range, or roused him out of bed at dawn to run a few miles. He had to devote practical time to succeed with work, and now, with his relationship.

The streetlights turned on as he was preparing to leave; his mind mirroring the sudden influx of light.

_Andy was safe, and that was the most important thing. Likely, she was already stewing about forced immobility and mandatory desk duty. The least he could do was be kind to her, show her that he supported her. She should be in good hands while recovering._

_His._

* * *

><p>It was just after eight when he returned to Andy's apartment.<p>

He came back with two coffees and a cookie from Andy's favorite bakery. A sugar cookie with vanilla frosting, which featured a carefully iced image of a poinsettia.

He handed the cookie to her in a clear, plastic carry-out box. "I hear you get flowers for people who are injured. People you care about." His tone bore witness to the regret in his eyes. "No flowers to be had at this hour, so I had to settle for a floral-themed cookie."

She looked at him intently before accepting the box and popping the lid open. Studying it for a moment, she carefully bit off a piece. Her eyes closed involuntarily, and she hummed in contentment. "For the time being, this is _way_ better than flowers."

A tiny smile graced his lips. "I'm glad you think so."

Shifting uncomfortably on his feet, he spoke again. "Listen, Andy, I want to get this out before you say anything. I should have been concerned about how you were, not about why you did or did not call me. God, it wasn't even your fault that you were injured!" He cleared his throat before adding, "I was an ass. And I'm so glad – _so glad_ – that nothing more serious happened."

She nodded, gesturing him to continue as she chewed and swallowed another bite of cookie.

"I know you can take care of yourself," Sam continued. "I've seen you in the field, I've seen you undercover, and you are more than capable of handling what the world throws at you. My life was in your hands when we were partners. More than that, I trusted you. I still trust you to have my back."

He lowered himself into an armchair before speaking again. "I should have trusted your judgment. I panicked when I heard that you were injured, and I wasn't thinking clearly. I'm sorry. I was worried, and I let the worry cloud all rationality." At that, he glanced up, daring to meet her eyes.

She acknowledged his apology with a brief tilt of her head before responding. "I get why you were angry. But you know who I am. You know how I've grown since my first day on the job. I'm not going to dismiss something serious; you have to believe that. You can't protect me from everything."

He chuckled lowly in his throat. "I wouldn't know where to start. You're a walking danger magnet, McNally. Trust me, this instance isn't about _protecting_ you."

Coming to take a seat next to her, he laced their fingers together and stared at their joined hands. "This is about _talking_ to me," he continued. "Which, frankly, I can't believe I have to ask you to do. You're full steam ahead on the chatty train most days."

She ran her free hand across the couch cushion, picking at stray fibers. "Accidents occur on a day-to-day basis, Sam. Things happen. And to be honest, I'm not used to reporting my condition to someone else. But I want you to believe that I would contact you if something serious happened. I'm not going to leave you standing idly by, ignorant of the situation. I care about you too much for that."

"Yeah," he breathed out. "Yeah, okay."

Crinkling her nose, her face adopted a decidedly pouty expression. "Geez, communicating like adults sucks."

"Yeah," he echoed. "Yeah it does, McNally."

She looked at him, noting the lines near the corners of his eyes, the shadow of stubble that had begun to appear on his chin. His face was tired, and her heart sunk in her chest ever so slightly.

"Do-over?" she prompted, her tone warm.

He fixed her with a probing stare. "Will you text me this time?" he asked.

"Probably not," she admitted. "But I'll call if something like that happens again. _If_ you promise to trust my judgment."

She hesitated, before asking, "Will you still get pissed?"

"Probably," he replied with a wry grin on his face.

"Will you make Oliver get on the phone?"

"Probably," he repeated, shrugging his shoulders.

She fixed him with a stern look. "You have to be willing to compromise, too, you know!"

He wrapped an arm around her gently. "We're not exactly brokers of change, McNally. Mostly I'll just be relieved you're okay. There's a direct correlation between your safety and my level of concern."

"You overreacted," she stated calmly.

"Yes, I did," he affirmed, just as calmly.

"I should have called," she confessed.

"Yes, you should have. Look at you, admitting mistakes."

From anyone else that remark may have seemed condescending, but from Sam, it was a green-light on the road to making amends. A valiant attempt to make light of a serious situation – For Sam, that was a big step.

She snuggled into his side, feigning a yawn. "Ha, _admitting mistakes_. I'm just following the lead of my former TO. You've gone soft, Swarek."

His face registered disbelief. "You're the one who drove me off the deep end."

"That would suggest you've given me the opportunity to drive."

He shook his head, although it was hardly from surprise. "Have you always had such a smart mouth?"

She beamed. "From the womb. Anyway, I haven't heard you complain about my mouth in recent weeks."

The room was silent for a moment before Andy clapped a hand over her mouth. Sam, in turn, fixed her with a devilish grin.

She rolled her eyes. "Ugh, you know what I mean."

"No, I'm afraid I don't. You'll have to show me, Officer McNally."

She arched an eyebrow at him, folding her arms over her chest. "You're too much."

He gently gripped her by the waist and settled her on his lap. "Too much or just enough?" he asked, his eyes twinkling. "It's up to you to set the pace, sweetheart."

"Yeah, because I'm definitely in the mood for romancing, what with the bulky brace on my wrist and the tape on my ribs. It makes a girl feel _very_ sexy and in control."

She gingerly slid off his lap. "Tell you what. You can kiss me and become reacquainted with my smart mouth, and then you can let me pick a movie to watch."

"Are my ministrations not enough to hold your interest, McNally?"

She picked up his hand, rubbing her thumb lightly across his knuckles. "You fussed over me enough today."

Sam's face fell briefly, and he moved to run a hand through her hair. "Hey – All kidding aside, you know that I trust your judgment, right? Your instincts? It's just hard admitting that there are some things I have no control over. Like when a lunatic is going to try and make a run for it in a station of coppers."

"Not his most brilliant plan, I will say that," Andy conceded.

"I'm not used to worrying about someone like I worry about you; it's new. I don't dislike it, it's just... It will take some time to get used to." He squeezed her shoulder and ran his hand down the length of her arm. "I'm happy you're safe. And sans serious injury."

"Thanks." She smiled brightly. "Me too."

His eyes began to dance as his hands edged toward the hem of her blouse. "I better check for injuries though, just to be sure. You should probably take off your shirt."

She patted his cheek gently. "Yeah, not happening, Casanova."

"So how can I worm my way into your good graces again?"

"Good question. You can start by helping me with the inevitable paper trail that will follow this incident."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Hey now. You know I'm no good with paperwork."

"Too bad," she countered, "You already offered."

She leaned in to brush an invisible trace of lint from Sam's shoulder. "And anyway, you know what our copper motto says."

"Serve," she murmured lowly.

He leaned closer, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Protect," he echoed, his voice husky.

"And have your partner's back," she finished, tilting his chin as she captured his lips with her own.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for taking the time to read! Reviews are as welcome as apologies delivered with cookies.<strong>


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you for your continued support of this story! To reiterate a point from previous chapters, I am open to suggestions from readers about 'Firsts' they would like to see. I will be exhausting my list first, but I look forward to tackling other suggestions/prompts in the future.**

**A special thanks to **dcj** for her support with this chapter.**

**These scenes take place at the end of December, roughly a month after Sam and Andy have begun dating. This chapter has a bit of a different feel, simply because we see more primary characters - I hope you'll enjoy it!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue. Or ear muffs.**

* * *

><p><strong>First social call.<strong>

Stretching his arms in the air, Dov sighed heavily before moving toward the coffee station in the Division. Thursday afternoon was dragging, and frankly, so was he. Fighting the yawn that threatened to escape, he covered his mouth with his hand and leaned against the countertop. Shift was almost over, and it was a good thing, too – He didn't think he would last much longer.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he nearly missed her. From the back, all he could see was a navy trench, tall russet boots, and an elegant scarf knotted around an equally elegant neck.

That was before she turned around.

He gaped openly at the woman lingering in the entrance of the station. She was fair and slim, sleek brunette tresses brushing her shoulders in an angled bob. The rich color highlighted the brightness of her eyes, which were roving the room impatiently. Pausing only to glance at her watch, she moved with practiced ease across the floor, navigating the chaos of officers and cluttered desks.

"Wow," he said, shaking his head once for effect. "Wow."

Jerry glanced up briefly before returning to the coffee cup he was fixing, "Don't swallow your tongue, Epstein."

"No, man. I'm not. I just appreciate a woman who walks with confidence and grace, you know?" he answered, his eyes trailing the woman across the room.

Gail laughed derisively. "Keep dreaming, Dov. She's way out of your league." Patting him on the cheek, she waltzed away from the coffee kiosk. "And wipe that drool from the corner off your lip… It's indecent."

Whether moved by pity or something decidedly less noble, Jerry spoke up. "Here's a hint, Epstein: Check out the ring finger." Smirking, he tapped his own detective badge. "That lady is already spoken for."

Realization dawned as the woman followed a well-worn path to the back corner of the division, to a desk littered with photo frames and the remains of a BLT sandwich wrapper. Dov's eyes widened comically.

"No," he said, firmly shaking his head, "Absolutely not."

Jerry shrugged, neither confirming nor denying.

"There is no way that _Oliver Shaw_ bagged that hottie. I mean, she's a couple of years older than me, ok, but –"

"She's got 'FINE' written all over her?" Traci interrupted, coming to stand behind Jerry. "You really need to get some new material, Dov."

"But, but…" Dov sputtered. "_How?_ I mean, we are talking about the same Oliver, right?"

"If I had to guess, I would say his first step in the right direction was not referring to her as an object 'to bag,'" Traci teased. "Maybe next time, Manboy."

* * *

><p>She sighed in exasperation, settling herself in a chair next to Sam. "Never on time, not even for an anniversary."<p>

"He just had to run a quick errand," Sam answered, not immediately looking up from his computer. It was only when he finished the report that he sat back and focused on the woman before him. Flashing a brilliant smile, he greeted her properly. "Zoe, radiant as always."

The corners of her mouth tugged upward, and she studied him with a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Sammy, talking out of your ass, as usual. Does that work on all the ladies?"

"Most of them," he conceded. Smirking, he added, "Not you, I'm afraid."

"No, not me," she laughed. She leaned against the desk, crossing her arms across her chest. "We've missed you the past couple of weeks at dinner. The girls have been asking about you."

"Oh, yeah?" He thumbed through a few files, a half-smile dancing on his face.

"You spoiled us with your semiweekly dinner attendance. Suspension for you, vacation for the girls: Julie informed me in no uncertain terms last week that Ollie and I are boring dinner company. Three weeks without Uncle Sam's stories, and the girls are beside themselves, alternately blaming the weather and the pot roast debacle for your absence." She grinned lightly. "They're not above begging, you know."

"Interesting," Sam deadpanned, swiveling in his chair to face her. "So not all the Shaw women are immune to my charms, then?"

Zoe rolled her eyes. "As if that head needed to get any bigger." Patting his arm gingerly, she stood up and made to leave. "Why don't you come over tomorrow night?

"Ah, thanks Zoe, but I sort of have plans." His eyes flickered to Andy, who was hunched over a stack of manila folders, counting the files in a low but audible tone.

Zoe followed Sam's line of vision. "Mmm, yes, of course. The rook that's turned your poor bachelor head." She smiled, shrugging her shoulders. "Bring her with you."

He eyed her warily, shaking his head. "I don't know, Zo. She just – she might not be up for it."

She looked at him dubiously. "Doesn't hurt to ask. Besides, consider it a warm-up for Andy before she enters the big leagues. You know, meeting Sarah and such."

Sam cocked an eyebrow, folding his arms over his chest. "Isn't it a little early to meet the family?"

"Well, let's find out, shall we?" Zoe persisted. Winking at Sam, she marched toward Andy's desk and interrupted her.

"Andy, it's nice to see you again," she said warmly, offering her hand. Wasting no breath, she charged ahead with the conversation. "I must say, it's much more pleasant to see you in this setting. The hospital was a far cry from a desired meet-and-greet."

Andy smiled, pushing her bangs off her forehead as she spoke. "Hi, Mrs. Shaw." Exhaling, she added, "And yes, I'm just glad Oliver was ok."

"You and me both," Zoe murmured, her mind revisiting the phone call from Fifteen about the rec centre shooting. She shook herself sharply, before smiling again. "But please, call me Zoe. No formalities."

Andy matched Zoe's grin with a warm smile of her own. "Sure. Thanks, Zoe."

"I hope you don't think this is too forward, but we'd love to have you and Sam over for dinner, if your schedule allows it."

"Oh! I, uh– um–" she looked to Sam helplessly. He threw his hands in front of his chest, shaking his head and mouthing, _Not my idea._

At a loss for words, Andy returned her gaze to Zoe. "Uh, sure, that would be – nice, yes. Thank you."

Zoe beamed. "Great. Tomorrow evening work for you?"

"F-fine," Andy stuttered. "Tomorrow is fine." Recovering some of her powers of speech, she added, "Thank you for the invitation."

She was saved from further conversation by Oliver's timely arrival, and she stepped back to her desk to give the Shaws a moment of privacy.

"Hey hun, I'm sorry I'm late. These are for you," he said, extending a bouquet of tulips to her. Zoe's gaze softened as she took in the sight of Oliver, red-faced and breathing heavily. He swooped in to place a kiss on her cheek and offered his arm. "Without further ado, milady, your chariot awaits."

Zoe brushed his cheek affectionately before stage-whispering to Andy, "Tulips, every year, even though they are out of season and terribly expensive." Turning back to her husband, she added sweetly, "You're forgiven, dearest."

"Did you have time to heckle Sam a bit?"

"Never a worthwhile trip to the station without a little razzing." She leaned in to fix his tie before catching him up to speed. "Izzy's violin lesson was rescheduled. We have to pick her up and drop her off at the babysitter's before we leave for dinner. She should be finishing up in twenty minutes or so."

"Ah, yes," Oliver responded, "You don't mess around with music teachers. They might send a note home."

Shaking her head in exasperation, Zoe turned to Andy. "That's my cue to leave. We'll see you Friday night?"

"Sounds great," Andy confirmed.

"Good," Zoe replied cheerily. "We're looking forward to it."

* * *

><p>A pair of strong arms encircled Andy's waist as she hovered by the station door. She was pulled from her daydream by the soft breath at her ear.<p>

"Don't be too upset. I didn't know she was going to ask, I swear."

Turning to face him, she took in the sight of Sam in his street clothes, his forehead creased with worry. Sliding her hands up his arm, she lingered at his shoulders, playing with the edge of his coat. "When are you going to start wearing a real winter jacket? Ear warmers, a scarf, anything? The wind is bitter, and you're being ridiculous."

She studied his face, reaching up to rub the crinkles around his eyes with her thumb. Softening her gaze, she smiled. "And I'm not upset. Just…" she paused, searching for the right word. "Surprised, I guess."

Sam loosened his grip around her waist, settling his thumbs in the loops of her belt. "We can back out if you want."

Andy narrowed her eyes. "I get the impression that Zoe would see right through that ploy."

"It's true; she's got sensors for that kind of thing," Sam admitted. "But she also has a heart of gold. Wrapped in saintly paper with meticulously applied trim and a tidy bow."

"Did she tell you to say that?" Andy teased.

"I won't pretend like I'm immune to her bullying. She is a passionate and intimidating woman."

"Oh yeah?" Andy questioned, smirking. "That's what works for you?"

He tried – unsuccessfully – to hide a grin. "I like a woman with a little spunk. Kinda surprised you haven't worked that one out yet, McNally." Reaching for her hand, he moved toward the exit.

She rolled her eyes in response. "You're hilarious, Sam."

He laughed. "C'mon, let's make a run for the truck. I have big plans for tonight that include you, me, takeout, and my couch."

"You know, we wouldn't have to run if you were dressed appropriately," she challenged, dragging her feet against the heavy-duty carpet.

Stopping abruptly, he gestured to the darkened street outside. "Okay. Well, you can walk home; no skin off my back."

She resisted the urge to stick out her tongue. "You wouldn't let me walk home," she responded, calling his bluff. Tapping his chest playfully, she added, "I'm on to you, Swarek."

"Hmm," he mused. "You're right." Scooping her up and slinging her over his back, he used the toe of his boot to push the door open. He stepped into the parking lot, nonchalantly weaving through the crowd of vehicles.

"In case you were wondering, Andy, firemen aren't the only able-bodied uniforms that can carry people."

"Sam!" she shrieked. "Put me down! What if there's black ice out here? You should know better, geez!" Lowering her voice, she huffed, "_Sam!_ There are PEOPLE around."

Sam continued walking calmly to the truck, ignoring her pleas. Depositing her on the passenger side, he straightened and backed her into the cool metal.

"I don't care what people think," he said confidently.

"Yeah, well, maybe I do," she answered, her breath hitching as Sam leaned closer.

"Guess we're gonna have to do something about that, huh?" he murmured, trailing his hand down her side.

She whimpered softly, pushing against his chest. Her breathing became more ragged as Sam traced the outline of her neck with his nose, "_Sam_…"

"_McNally_…" he parroted, his voice husky with emotion.

"You," she mumbled accusingly, "_You_…" Her eyelids fluttered closed, traitorous to the very end.

"_You_," he repeated, stressing the syllable. "_You_ are off your rocker if you think I'm going to wear ear muffs." Pushing himself away from the truck, he choked back a chuckle as her eyes flew open.

"_Warmers_, not _muffs_. They're unisex!" she protested.

"They're absurd," he countered. "You would have stood a chance if you started with 'hat.' Now you're just wasting your breath."

* * *

><p>Friday evening found Sam and Andy standing on the front porch of a cute three-bedroom residence, holding a bottle of wine and each other's hands. As the doorbell echoed, Andy's grip tightened on Sam's palm almost imperceptibly. He winked encouragingly, mouthing the words, <em>Three, two, one…<em>

The steady pound of several pairs of feet echoed down the stairs, alerting them to a mass movement inside the house. A moment later the door swung open, and Andy came face to face with a freckly, auburn-haired girl, no more than eight or nine.

"Hi!" shrieked the girl enthusiastically, her ponytail bobbing in excitement. As an afterthought, she swept an arm around the doorway and added grandly, "Welcome to our home."

"Hey kiddo. It's nice to see you too," Sam teased. Reaching down he tossed the girl over his shoulders and gently poked her in the ribs. "This excitable, upside-down monkey is Izzy."

The door swung open further, revealing a tiny body clamoring in the background. "Is it Uncle Sammy? Uncle Sammy? Uncle Sammy?"

Placing Izzy on the welcome mat, he pointed in the direction of the stairs, where a lanky preteen girl sat. "That's Julie, resident soccer star. She loves Taylor Swift, 'everything' bagels, and I'm pretty sure a boy named Ben…"

"Uncle Sam!" Julie chided, blushing. "Stop it. He's just my friend; I told you that."

Andy gave her a wide smile. "This guy doesn't really understand the concept of a girl and a boy being _friends_. Do you Sam?" she teased lightly.

He ignored her, placing his hand on the head of the girl standing behind the door. "And this little munchkin chanting my name…"

"Who are _you_?" the youngest girl interrupted, sneaking out from behind the door and eyeing Andy suspiciously. She was curly-haired and all eyes, her probing stare not wholly unlike her father's.

"That's _McNally_," Izzy piped up. "She works with Uncle Sammy and Daddy. She's the one that's the danger magn-"

"Okay, that's quite enough, sweetie," Oliver said, appearing behind Izzy and slapping his hand over her mouth. A guilty smile appeared on his face as he ushered Sam and Andy into the foyer. "The things kids say, eh?"

Zoe appeared in the adjacent hallway, toweling off her hands and removing the apron that covered her jeans. "Hi, guys. Come on in."

Sam grabbed Andy's hand and led her down the hall. "As I was saying, the youngest here is Olivia. If ever were a child to follow in her father's footsteps, it would be this one. Her game of choice is cops 'n' robbers, and she has a withering glare that would crack the most hardened of criminals."

"Yeah, I got that impression," Andy whispered.

Sam chuckled. "She also has an unrivaled funny bone. I've deemed her my joke book protégé. In her six short years, she has already mastered the art of delivery."

"Lucky her," Andy teased, stepping into the kitchen.

"You betcha. Watch this. Hey, Liv, what do skeletons say before sitting down for dinner?"

She gave him a silly grin and stuck her tongue out. "I don't know, Uncle Sammy."

"Bone appétit!"

She giggled, tugging on his hand and leading him to the kitchen table. "Okay, I have one for you. Why do mummies make the best spies?"

"Hmm," said Sam, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "I don't know; why?"

She waggled her eyebrows devilishly. "They're good at keeping things under wraps!"

Stifling a laugh, Andy bit her lip and followed Zoe to the center island to deposit the bottle of wine. _Protégé indeed._

* * *

><p>In a matter of moments, the kitchen had turned into a hub of noise and conversation.<p>

"So is your _real name_ McNally?" Olivia asked.

"And how come you've never come over before?" Izzy interjected.

"And what's the scoop with you and Uncle Sam?" asked Julie, folding her arms over her chest when Sam gave her a look. "What?" she said defensively. "You tease me about Ben."

"Hey! Children of the corn!" Zoe exclaimed, attempting to get their attention. When that didn't work, she stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly.

"Girls. Hey. I know it's not every day we see Uncle Sam in the company of a pretty woman…"

"Ha," Oliver muttered. "McNally couldn't hook if her life depended on it."

"But," Zoe continued, giving Oliver a pointed glare. "They're guests, not zoo exhibits. There is no need to gawk."

Undeterred, Oliver clapped his hand on Sam's shoulder. "If it's any consolation, you're no slick, silver fox, buddy. An officer? Yes. A gentleman? No."

"That's not even the same movie," Andy protested.

"Good thing, too," Oliver responded seriously. "Sammy's too old for motorcycles and wearing white after Labor Day."

"You forgot the most important detail; I can't pull off the hat," Sam added dryly.

"Right, right," Oliver said, shaking his head in affirmation. "Although…" He paused for effect. "According to Epstein's latest dish, your back has recovered successfully, brother."

He turned to Andy, goading her slyly. "So he'd have no problem picking you up and carrying you out, McNally, right?"

"I told you somebody would see!" hissed Andy, elbowing Sam.

"And I told you - "

"I hate to break up this little love fest," Zoe interrupted, "But I think that's enough for now." She fixed Oliver with a look, inclining her head toward the the girls. "Ollie: Guests, not zoo exhibits, remember?"

Shaking her head, Zoe began to direct the traffic in the kitchen. "Julie, you're in charge of plates. Izzy, napkins. Placing a hand on Liv's back, she pushed her in the direction of the stairs. "Sweetie, go put on a shirt that isn't white; we're having pasta with red sauce." Moving toward the kitchen, she called over her shoulder, "Oliver, hun, please open that bottle of wine, and offer our guests a glass. We're not savages," she finished, before adding in an amused tone, "Most of the time."

Dinner was a rambunctious affair, a chorus of voices and stories and giggles, and Andy couldn't remember the last time she had a pleasant meal in the company of adults and children alike. She spent most of the meal engaged in conversation with Zoe, gossiping about the Division and hearing entertaining recaps of "Oliver and Zoe: The Early Years." Every so often, she would sneak a glance at Sam, who was patiently listening to Julie's sports play-by-plays ("She's better than TSN") and exchanging puns with Olivia. On more than one occasion, he grinned suggestively at her when the girls weren't paying attention, until Zoe caught wind of his antics and shut him down.

"Sammy, for the love of God, not at the dinner table."

"What?" he asked innocently.

"You _know _what," she answered, in a tone that only a mother could muster.

Moving to clear the dishes, she caught Sam's eye. "Let's keep it family-friendly, alright?"

* * *

><p>After dinner, Sam and the three girls set up an assembly line for dishes that was too efficient to have been untested. Julie scraped the plates before passing them to Sam, and Sam washed the dishes with proficiency, scrubbing the cups, bowls, and silverware. For her part, Izzy dried the dinnerware, and Olivia was given authority over the spoons and plastic tumblers, "an important job," she had informed Andy.<p>

Smiling, Zoe watched them for a few minutes before leading Andy to the living room sofa. Oliver had run to the corner drugstore to purchase another bottle opener, but not before flitting around the kitchen, bewildered by the absence of their corkscrew.

"We used it this evening to open the first bottle – How did we lose it already?"

"_You_ used it, Ollie. As far as its present location, your guess is as good as mine."

After perusing the shelves, countertops, and drawers to no avail, Oliver conceded defeat. Sighing heavily, he scooped up his car keys. "Fine. I'll be quick."

"Not too quick," his wife amended.

He eyed her suspiciously. "Are you that eager to be rid of me?"

"Would you be particularly offended if I said _yes_?"

"Do you see what I put up with, Andy?" Oliver asked, looking to Andy for backup. Turning to his wife, he exhaled loudly. "Hoping to run off with Sammy while I'm gone and McNally's back is turned?"

"Never," Zoe replied, shaking her head emphatically. "I prefer a little less cynicism and a little less game."

Placated, Oliver leaned in to kiss his wife's nose. "Thank you." He was halfway to the front door when he stopped abruptly and turned on his heel.

"_Wait_, are you implying Sammy has _more game_ them me?"

"I love you, dear. Make sure you pick out a decent kind that won't split the cork."

* * *

><p>Settling into the sofa cushions, Andy looked around the living room before speaking haltingly. "Zoe? Can I ask you a personal question?"<p>

She smiled. "I was hoping you would." Slipping her hand into her jeans pocket, she fished out the wine opener. "I thought we could use some time to talk, but you need a foolproof plan to get rid of the men."

Laughing at Andy's expression, Zoe shrugged her shoulders. "We could use another corkscrew, anyway, post-holiday visits and such. Oliver won't mind, and it gives us the chance to speak without interruption."

Returning her smile, Andy hesitated ever-so-briefly before she spoke. "Things are always busy around here."

It was a statement, rather than a question.

Zoe nodded. "Practices, recitals, open gyms, and a slew of other extra-curriculars. Never a dull moment."

"It must be hard, especially when Oliver works long hours."

Another statement.

Zoe eyed Andy appraisingly, carefully selecting her words. "It is. But you make sacrifices when you love someone."

Andy opened her mouth to respond, and then closed it again. When she finally spoke, her words came out in a rush.

"How do you do it? How do you bear it? Knowing that Oliver could be hurt, or worse?"

Setting her glass aside, Zoe studied Andy intently. She was no police officer, but she could identify when a person was anxious. The tense set of Andy's shoulders, the restless fidgeting, her thumbs twiddling nervously – They were all giveaways.

"How did _you_ do it?" she asked quietly. "Your dad was on the force. You must have some idea."

Andy wrinkled her nose. "I'm not sure we were a successful model for police families. We were more like the poster children for 'How to self-destruct in high-stress situations.'"

Zoe smiled sympathetically, patting her knee. "If there's one thing I've learned in all my years of marriage, family is rarely easy." She looked up, meeting Andy's eyes. "But we have to fight for the things we love, right? The good things are rarely easy."

Fiddling with her wedding band, she sighed softly. Her next words were direct, and they struck Andy acutely.

"You learn to cope. There are scary days and scary phone calls, but you respect his decision to serve and protect. You support him, and tell him that you love him, and you pray for his safety. And you cry a lot," she admitted, before cracking a tiny grin. "But I laugh a lot, too."

"You trust him to make the right decision. You trust his partner to have his back when you aren't there. You learn to hate the smell of disinfectant, because it reminds you of hospital waiting rooms. You learn to brew the best damn cup of coffee around. There are late nights and early mornings, and sometimes it seems like you don't have a second to breathe, but it's worth it. Fifteen years and three beautiful kids later, and it's worth it. God knows I love Oliver, and for some crackpot reason, he loves me, and we make it work."

She gazed steadily at Andy, lowering her voice. "You make time, outside of police work and investigations. You spend time with your kids. You spend time with each other. You fight, you make-up, but you don't let a day go by without letting him know he is important to you, even if you're pissed off. You forgive – That's probably the most important thing. You forgive." She paused, and as an afterthought, added, "Of course, he should do an appropriate amount of groveling." Catching Andy's eye, she laughed, and immediately the tension was broken. "And you don't give up. On each other or on the relationship."

Andy swallowed hard, her eyes uncharacteristically misty.

Zoe placed a reassuring hand on Andy's arm. "You'll be okay. You'll both be okay."

Andy laughed shakily, smoothing the creases in her skirt. "Yeah, I guess I'm a little transparent, huh?"

"That's not always a bad thing."

Andy smile gratefully. "Can I ask one more question? This might be a little silly, but... Did you _just know_?"

"You know, growing up, I never was a believer in finding 'The One.' But I met Ollie, and well… I guess I really did just know_._"

* * *

><p>Two hours later, Oliver and Zoe stood waving at the doorway, arms wrapped around each other's waists as Sam and Andy made the trek to his truck.<p>

"You weren't lying. He really likes her."

"He does."

"And she likes him, although she's terrified of screwing it up. But her face – It practically lights up when he is in the room."

"I've never seen him that serious about anyone."

Zoe sighed, pleased with her husband's observations. "He's a little lighter, a little looser. It's nice."

"And it's been official for less than a month."

"Silently pining for two years, really?"

"He's a martyr. Or an idiot, depending on how you read the situation."

"I'm glad they're happy."

"Yeah," Oliver said softly, drawing her closer. "Me too."

* * *

><p>"I'm glad we went," Andy said, breaking the silence in the truck cab.<p>

"Zoe runs a tight ship, huh?" Sam said, smirking.

"She does," Andy replied. "And it was nice to see Oliver in his element. He really loves being a dad and a husband, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," Sam said, clearing his throat. "He really does."

He knew that Andy hadn't been worried about interacting with Zoe or Oliver. Oliver and Andy had developed a rapport at work, partnered together more often than not after her suspension. As for Zoe – Andy had endeared herself to Zoe the day of the blackout, the day of the rec centre shooting. He found out later that she visited Ollie the next day in the hospital before he was discharged. She needed to see for herself that he was okay, and Zoe was more than appreciative of her kindness.

_Lion's heart_, he thought, a tiny grin escaping his lips.

No, it wasn't Oliver or Zoe that terrified her. It was three little girls with big smiles and knobby knees.

She was worried she wouldn't be able to relate. That she would be stiff and awkward around them. It was a projection of her own insecurities, her perceived inadequacy.

She couldn't have been further from the truth.

The girls warmed up to her immediately, inviting her to their homemade fort after dinner.

It had taken him three visits to score the invite to the "Girls Club." Andy may not have realized it at the time, but invites were pretty exclusive.

She joked and had them rolling on the floor in hysterics. She told stories, waving her arms around for emphasis. She French braided Julie's hair and painted Izzy's nails and read several storybooks to Olivia – who, despite her initial reticence, crawled into Andy's lap and fell asleep on her shoulder.

Before bed, they had begged her to come back with Sam.

She might doubt herself, but by his assessment, she had the mom instincts down pat.

* * *

><p>"Hey, what are you smiling about?" Andy asked, her voice breaking through his reverie.<p>

He glanced at her briefly. "Nothing. Just thinking, I guess."

"Dangerous pastime, Swarek. Isn't that what you always tell me?"

"Oh, so you do listen?" he queried, his tone incredulous.

"Yeah, something manages to stick now and again."

He chuckled. "I'm sure that would make your training officer proud."

They resumed the silence until they pulled onto Sam's street.

"Hey Andy?" he said, his brows drawing together. "I had a good time tonight."

She smiled faintly, running a hand across his arm. "Yeah, me too."

Leaning over the console, he brushed her bangs from her eyes and grazed her nose with his own.

"You feel like going shopping tomorrow?" he whispered against her lips.

She pulled back, gazing at him in disbelief. "You want to go shopping? Like, voluntarily?"

"Yeah, I've been thinking... It's time to make a few concessions."

She studied him carefully, narrowing her eyes. "And what, may I ask, brought this on?"

"Meh, a couple things. And anyway, I think I need some winter gear."

* * *

><p><strong>As always, thank you for reading.<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**This scene takes place in mid-March.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue. And I was never a Girl Scout/Girl Guide.**

* * *

><p><strong>First trip.<strong>

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

She sighed dramatically, draping herself across his arm. "C'mon, Sam, where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," Sam replied, unshaken by Andy's attempts to weasel information from him. Glancing at her briefly from the corner of his eye, he smiled and nudged her cheek with his shoulder. "Buck up, copper."

It was a little infuriating just how unflappable he could be when driving.

Edging back toward her own seat, Andy watched Sam's hands return to grip the steering wheel. For the length of the trip, he had moved sparingly, alternately pausing to take a sip of coffee or consult the road map stuffed in the center console. The focus in his eyes was not lost on her; he had a plan, and for a man that endorsed the spontaneous lifestyle, he certainly seemed intent on very specific timing and locale.

"But I like cold, hard facts, not _surprises_," Andy whined. Lightly elbowing Sam, she pointed at the Academy hoodie she was wearing. "Hello, have we met? I'm a police officer."

"Yeah, must have slipped my mind." He fixed her with a maddening grin. "Hey, uh, what's that line?" he asked, dragging his eyes away from the road. "What goes around…?"

"Shut up," she said, wrinkling her nose. "If you're going to be evasive, I'm gonna take a nap." Propping her feet up on the dashboard, she swept an arm underneath her seat, blindly searching for a blanket. "And anyway, you love my surprises."

"Well, let's hope you accept yours with the same enthusiasm."

"Hmm," Andy mumbled. Locating the fleece blanket, she wrapped it around her shoulders before snuggling against the passenger side window. "As long it doesn't involve guys in masks. Or Celine Dion music videos. Or highly communicable diseases."

"What?" she said defensively, returning his dubious look. "Those things happen to freak me out, ok?"

He shook his head, bemused. "Go to sleep, crazy. I'll wake you when we get there."

* * *

><p>Two hours and several disjointed dreams later, Andy awoke, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "Where are we?"<p>

Sam cut the engine, the loud rumble of the truck ceding to the quiet darkness that enveloped them. "_We_, Andy, have reached our destination." Gesturing to a sign on the opposite end of the parking lot, he smiled widely.

Blinking groggily, Andy made out the words "Campground." Rubbing her eyes, she looked at the sign again. _No, still "Campground."_ Fixing him with an incredulous look, she quickly scanned the perimeter of the area. "Are you joking?"

"I usually contain my jokes to classic word puns, so, no. I'm not joking." He poked her gently in the ribs. "We're here for the weekend… It just took us a little longer to find the spot than I wanted."

His comment seemed to jolt her from her state of suspended disbelief. Turning to him, she said in a mock-stern voice, "That's why we should have a GPS."

He shrugged, untroubled. "I like maps."

Shaking her head, her attention returned to their present location. "But wait. Wait. I mean, _why_ are we here?"

"I can think of three good reasons," he said, holding up three fingers.

She humored him, motioning for him to continue.

"One - The weather is unseasonably warm."

"Okay, it has been warm for March, but still."

"Two - You like this kind of stuff, and I could stand to broaden my horizons."

"Since when are you interested in _broadening your horizons_?"

He ignored her, sliding out of his seat and circling the front of the cab to open her door. "Three," He popped the door and leaned in, tugging at the lapels of her coat to draw her closer. "It's your birthday. And I thought you'd like it."

She smiled reluctantly. "Well, technically it isn't my birthday until next week."

"Well, we're just going to have to have extended celebrations, huh?" he said, smirking. "C'mon, it'll be fun… I think."

"Tommy had some of your old camping gear in storage. And Ollie lent me a tent. Apparently I'm the only guy that, uh, doesn't have a deed to some antiquated, woodland area: cabin, lake, or the like." He shot her a wry grin, cocking an eyebrow. "Who knew?"

"Um, everyone? Your distaste for the great outdoors is pretty common knowledge."

He shrugged. "What can I say? I like traffic. And loud noise. And haze. That's _my_ nature."

"Yeah, nothing says _beauty of nature _quite like sirens and smog," she deadpanned.

He slipped an arm around her shoulders. "To each his own, McNally."

"So, a campground?" she said, crossing her arms across her chest and staring at the vast expanse of woods.

"Yep," he drawled. "It's not seasoned veteran-style camping, but seeing as I have zero experience in this field, I thought it would be best to be in walking distance of amenities. A landline. Access to emergency transport vehicles - You know, the works."

She fought valiantly to keep the grin off her face.

"Anyway, I have to go check in and get directions to our assigned space. I'm pretty sure we can drive to the plot, but if not, we might have to do some light hiking."

Tying her hair in a knot at the crown of her head, Andy raised her eyebrows suspiciously. "Well, that kind of hiking is preferable to our last bout, don't you think?"

"Uh, yeah." He rolled his eyes. "We're starting fresh, okay? No escaped convicts, no throat injuries, no beavers in handcuffs?"

"That sounds perfect," she assured him. Smiling brightly, she hopped over to the truck to rummage through their overnight bags. "You're not so bad at this boyfriend stuff, you know that?"

"I'm a man of many talents."

"Mmm, yes. Yes, you are."

* * *

><p>Forty minutes later, Sam was struggling amidst a pile of nylon, canvas, and aluminum. "According to Ollie, this tent is idiot-proof."<p>

Running a hand through his hair, he looked at Andy. "If he can do it, it can't be that hard, right?"

She shot him a sympathetic smile. "Do you need any help?"

Shaking his head, he reached into his duffel and pulled out a bag of marshmallows. Tossing it in her direction, he hit her in the chest with a loud _thwack_. "I won't deny you your sugar rush, ya junkie."

Grabbing the bag eagerly, she tore a hole in the top and fished one out, stuffing it in her mouth.

"Mmm," she hummed contentedly. "It's like you're my fairy godmother."

He refrained from commenting, settling for a half-cocked eyebrow instead.

"Wffft?" she questioned, her mouth full of the fluffy mallow. Swallowing hard, she rolled her eyes and added, "But less bippity-boppity and more sex appeal, ok? Happy?"

"About being compared to an elderly, female, fairytale character? Nope, not really."

"It was a _thank you_, you dope." She flashed a row of pearly whites and reached for another marshmallow. "Thank you," she repeated innocently.

"Huh," Sam responded noncommittally.

Sighing again, he rubbed the back of his neck. "How would you feel about sleeping in the bed of my truck? I mean, if this–" he gestured to the pile of material that was decidedly un-tentlike, "Doesn't happen?"

"Whatever we have to do is fine," Andy said. "Although, you know, maybe I could give you a hand?"

She extended a marshmallow in his direction. "Peace offering?" she asked, trying to coax a smile out of him. "Let me help. Please."

He studied her for a long moment before throwing his hands in the air and conceding defeat. "Fine." His mouth twitched slightly, and he exhaled. "That's fine. Thank you."

Slipping behind him, Andy rested her chin on his shoulder and observed the mess he had made. "It's ok, Sam. You have massive amounts of street cred. You don't need nature cred, too."

* * *

><p>First it had been the tent. Then it was the arrangement of their gear. Then, as the sun set, it was building a fire in the pit. She had to give him credit, he was persistent. Failing miserably, <em>yes<em>, but persistent.

She watched him from the corner of the campsite, a slight smile tugging at her lips as he fumbled with the matches. Letting out a string of curses, he threw a small log in defeat before staring at it angrily, as if he expected the log would crack first. Muttering under his breath, he crouched on the ground and picked up the piece of wood again.

The lengths to which this man would go to put a smile on her face. It was incredible, really.

And it wasn't just here at the campsite.

There were days when she was tired or grumpy or PMSing, and he was a beacon of good humor and well-maintained silence. He wouldn't try to talk her out of her crabby mood; he'd just sprawl on the couch and put on a crappy TV show that he knew she loved. Pulling her toward his lap, he would run a hand through her hair, softly and gently, until her eyes became heavy and her breath evened out.

He wasn't a "just because" flowers kind of guy, but he always had flowers for the important occasions. Other days, he'd surprise her with sugary cereal or an extra cup of coffee or _a bag of marshmallows_, and honestly, she thought she liked that better. He didn't change who he was because of her, but he indulged her crazy sugar and caffeine whims, and he usually made her laugh in the process.

His uniform – outside of his uniform– was jeans and a t-shirt, but he had already proven to her that he would dress up, if it was really important to her. He let her wander the house in his sweatpants, rolled three times at the waist, and he didn't complain when she permanently hijacked his favorite Rush t-shirt. He always stepped out of the shower first to offer a steadying arm, he introduced her to family and friends, and he may not have been the most eloquent apologizer, but he was the sincerest. She saw the lengths to which he had gone to rectify sources of tension.

He sat with her when she cried about a victim or worried about her dad, and somehow, he could anticipate the exact moment when Andy would go from frustrated and angry to sad and disillusioned. It was at that moment that he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her to his chest. He didn't try to placate with words – "It's part of life" or "It's gonna be ok" or "I know" – he simply held her until his t-shirt was stained with tears and the shaking had subsided, and then he would kiss her temple and sit with her for a while longer.

He joked often, attempting to make her giggle or bite her lip in ill-concealed humor. On days when they were on-shift together, she would elbow him in the ribs or shake her head in amusement, but he would persist, until he got the full McNally laugh. He teased, and he taunted, and he made her choke on her food on more than one occasion, but he always managed to get the laugh. He wasn't above throwing his arms in a mock-victory salute afterward.

He talked her down when she was nervous, alternately encouraged and challenged her, and he made her want to be a better police officer. A better girlfriend. A better person, really, and maybe someday…

Months ago, she had used the "good candy" metaphor. In typical Swarek/McNally fashion, their conversation was a lot more loaded than it appeared on the surface. But when she had left that voicemail before he went under, she was sure: She wanted the good candy.

After the Brennan ordeal and subsequent suspension, it was easy to relish the good candy. It was another thing to convey to the good candy how much its presence meant. That, actually, you wanted the good candy to stick around forever. Because, really the good candy should have a strong shelf life, and you prayed that it would never be discontinued or recalled or have traces of allergens that could injure you. Life without the good candy would be empty.

She would be empty.

He made her happy. Happier than she had ever been in twenty-nine years of life.

And now he was stupidly messing with a campfire, likely handling logs that were too green or too wet, because he thought it would mean something to her.

Sam hated nature. Nature was unpredictable, an alien environment that didn't abide by the same set of laws he regularly enforced. He hated the foreign aura; he hated to cede some semblance of control or familiarity. And yet here he was, a city boy in the woods, because it was her birthday.

He was here. For her.

He was always here for her.

And she –

She was finally at peace with the words that for months had been written on her heart.

"I love you."

He stilled by the fire, and the surrounding woods seemed to follow suit. Not a chirp could be heard. No faint breeze rustling the leaves, not a single blade of glass disturbed by the wind. He straightened, his back toward her, and she saw the wood fall to the ground with an unassuming _thud_ as his fist slowly unfurled.

"I love you," she repeated, her voice barely a whisper but echoing in the stillness.

She heard the blood rushing in her ears; she felt the dull thudding of her heart, pounding a staccato rhythm against her rib cage. _Could Sam hear it?_ It was so quiet.

She approached him slowly, crossing the breadth of space with level and careful steps. He didn't turn.

She buried her face in his back, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades, her hands gingerly wrapping around his waist and coming to rest on his abdomen.

He placed a rough palm over her hands, caressing her knuckles once, before disengaging himself and turning on his heel.

One arm slid across her back, the other, behind her thigh, and he lifted her, settling her around his waist. Pulling her body flush against him, he coaxed her mouth open with his lips.

And she felt it – everything that he hadn't said. It was all poured into that kiss. Desperation and hope and terror and joy, utter joy. Her body began to tremble with the urgency and gravity of his mouth on hers: closer, harder, deeper.

When he finally paused to take a breath, his forehead came to rest against hers. Coaching her heartbeat back to a normal rhythm, she slid down his body, shaky legs coming to rest on the ground.

When she dared to look at his face, his eyes were still closed.

He pulled back, rubbing his thumb over her cheek, and blinked once, twice. His eyes were dark, and his face, a mirror of a thousand emotions, disbelief and incredulity and warmth and delight. He couldn't quite believe she had said it, and yet he wanted to believe it so badly, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

His voice was deep, a timbre she had never heard before – not when he was upset, or concerned, or even when he woke up in the morning.

"McNally…" He swallowed hard. "_Andy_," he amended, his voice low and shaky.

"You've trusted me with your life, right? That's what partners do. And that has never been a job I've taken lightly."

Fingering a strand of her hair, he stared at it for a measure before turning his gaze to her eyes. "All I want…" He paused, clearing his throat. "All I _have_ wanted… is for you to trust me with your heart."

She sobered at his expression, tugging him closer and winding her arms around his neck.

"God, I love you," he breathed. "I love you _**so**_ much."

Dipping his head, he kissed her again. She urged him closer, giggling into his mouth as the sound of a tiny growl resonated in her ears.

"Say it again," he rasped against her throat, skimming his fingers over her collarbone before burying his fingers in her hair.

"I love you," she whispered.

And he laughed, _he actually laughed_ – one deep, throaty chuckle – before claiming her lips again, working his way up the side of her face.

This was love.

* * *

><p>A low rumble of thunder shook them from their reverie.<p>

Andy pulled back abruptly. "Is it going to rain?"

He ignored her question, dragging her in the direction of their tent, peppering her neck and jaw with whiskery kisses.

"Oh god, this is like every bad cliché, ever. A declaration of feelings, and then a rainstorm?"

"Mm, McNally," he murmured, close to her ear. "Not now. I'm working over here."

A silly grin overtook her face. If she was honest with herself, her cheeks felt like they might just crack with the pressure of her smile. "Yeah, I guess it's less nauseating when it's happening to you."

He stopped abruptly. "Do they make double sleeping bags?"

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Um, yeah, I think so. I mean, I've seen them in stores."

He sighed, shaking his head in annoyance. "We should have bought one for this trip." Shrugging, he added, "Guess we're squeezing into yours, then."

She laughed, pushing him away with her free hand. "You're nuts."

He caught her palm, wrapping his fingers around hers. "No, _you're nuts_ if you think I'm gonna let you say something like that and sleep alone afterward." He flicked his wrist, and she all but stumbled into his chest. "Cold be damned."

"You might be singing a different tune in the middle of night."

He fixed her with a cocky grin. "I'll manage."

* * *

><p>Hours later, they sat around the campfire, a healthy blaze of warmth and light, due in large part to Andy's prowess with kindling and a lighter.<p>

"I really love your laugh, did you know that?" she murmured, tracing Sam's jaw with her fingers. "Not that short, loaded bark of laughter that follows a rookie mistake in the field. Your 'happy' laugh. Your eyes get crinkly. And I can see all your teeth, and these little guys," she said, tracing the dimple in his right cheek, "go crazy."

Running her hands down the length of his arms, she hugged him to her chest. "I like to see you like that. Like this."

Resting her head on his shoulder, she glanced up at the stars. "Hey, Sam? This is nice," she murmured. "Really nice. Thank you."

Smiling down at her, Sam opened his mouth and the words tumbled out. "I think I love the woods."

"Just the woods?" she asked innocently.

He shook his head in amusement. "Shut up."

She arched an eyebrow saucily. "Is that any way to talk to the woman for whom you've just professed feelings?"

He grinned. "Next time we'll spring for the real deal, huh? No campgrounds. Just you, me, nature, and maybe some unseasonable warmth," he finished, a devilish twinkle in his eye.

"Next time? Sounds like you're getting ahead of yourself there, Swarek," she teased. "You haven't survived the weekend yet."

"I like the way it's going so far. And I love the company," he clarified.

"Is that right?"

"Yeah," he responded, giving her a brief squeeze. "That's right."

Cradling her to his chest, he leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Happy birthday, Andy."

* * *

><p>Andy awoke the next morning feeling surprisingly refreshed. Whether it was the clear skies, the fresh air, or the words of the man lying next to her – Well, regardless, she was happy.<p>

_Sam loved her. And she loved him._

A muffled groan interrupted her daydreaming and she burrowed closer to the lump of blankets that concealed the man underneath.

His face was tired and drawn as he peeked out from under his sleeping bag. "I think I spoke too soon."

She froze immediately and her eyes snapped to his, bewildered.

"No, Andy," he half-laughed, half-groaned. "_Too soon_ about the woods. Expressing any particular affinity or affection for this nature crap. I feel like I've been bulldozed by a freight train. Or whatever the 'natural equivalent' of that is."

She bit back a smile, mustering a look of sympathy instead.

"Hey," he continued, "I've endured my fair share of injuries on the job, but seriously, I didn't know bones could feel this way."

He shifted, trying to work out a crick in his neck.

"I think I may have permanently injured my back."

"Really? Worse than that time we…"

"Yeah."

"Wow."

He flopped back underneath the blankets, grunting about the myth of fresh air. "Hotel. Motel. Bed and Breakfast by the sea, for all I care. Next time, we get a bed."

* * *

><p>When Sam stumbled out of the tent twenty minutes later, Andy already had started to assemble breakfast. Noting his haggard appearance, she walked to the edge of the campsite and guided Sam to a chair by the fire pit. "Feeling any better, champ?"<p>

"Not really," he mumbled into the cup of coffee Andy had thrust in his hand.

"Well, luckily you have an attentive girlfriend to take care of you," she said brightly. "A lovely lover who you love."

He groaned. "Please never say that again."

"What, you didn't mean it?" she asked innocently, feigning wide-eyed disbelief.

"Funny, McNally." He hesitated, his dark eyes growing serious. Pulling her toward him, he gestured to his lap, and she sat down.

"I, uh – You know, it may have taken a while to vocalize it, but…" He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. "That, uh, doesn't make it any less real. It doesn't mean that those feelings weren't there… you know… before."

She considered making light of the situation – a teasing jab, an offhand remark, perhaps an "Oh, so you've felt this way for a while, Officer Swarek?"

She couldn't.

She reached for his hands, lacing her fingers through his. "I know."

"Despite my protests and grumbles, it was nice having a night away, just the two of us," he said, tracing a pattern on the back of her hand. Gazing at her steadily, he repeated the words from the night before.

"I love you, Andy."

She smiled, carefully extracting her hand from his before moving to sit in front of him. "The feeling is mutual, copper."

Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on his knees and folded her hands under her chin. "So…" she began, "I have a list of… _demands_, I guess you could say."

He chuckled lowly. "That sounds like the Andy McNally I know."

"Now that we've said those three magic words," she gave him another disarming smile, bright and infectious, "We have to establish ground rules for when we repeat these sentiments. Here are my suggestions."

"Right before bed. When we wake up in the morning. When I burn something in the kitchen. When you prove useful in some handyman capacity. When we go for walks. When you let me drive. Poker Nights. Girls' Nights. Nights we sit around in sweatpants and watch movies. Before shift. After shift. Future camping trips and outdoor endeavors. At the mall. In the shower. On morning runs. At fancy restaurants and podunk diners. On federal holidays, birthdays, and on days you wear grey t-shirts. And this clause is open-ended, so really, we can tack on as many addendums in the future as we want."

"That's a lot of places," he drawled, a slow smile spreading across his face.

She matched his grin, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Well, I love you a lot of different ways."

* * *

><p><strong>Surprise! First trip was actually their first "I love you."<strong>

**The camping motif is popular, I know, but I couldn't resist. It's how I've had their first "I love you" planned from the get-go.**

**Thank you, as always, for reading.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Sincerest apologies to reviewers who were told that this update would be posted by Saturday. The holiday season has proven to throw a wrench in scheduling, and I'm very sorry that this chapter wasn't submitted yesterday. I hope it will be some consolation to know that a 'Firsts' Christmas outtake will be posted this week. 'First holiday' can be found in Chapter 3, but I will be submitting an outtake about the days leading up to Christmas (before Sam leaves for St. Catharine's). I hope you'll enjoy!**

**The following scene takes place in early April.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue (or any Pixar movies). And I share the credit for 'Alien Invasion' with four little boys I babysat in high school.**

* * *

><p><strong>First babysitting gig.<strong>

Stretching languidly, Andy exhaled and leaned against the cool frame of her locker.

After a fruitless battle with the zipper of her hoodie, she turned her attention to her hair. Brushing the wet strands into a messy ponytail, she nodded at her reflection in the mirror, satisfied. She checked her wristwatch for the fourth time in as many minutes, attempting to stifle the brief burst of impatience. _Fifteen minutes until she was supposed to meet Sam._ She could have taken a leisurely shower, but she was eager to get out of the barn and into pajamas. Comfy pajamas. Cozy pajamas. Warm pajamas.

Closing her eyes, she imagined herself on the couch, beer in hand, and Sam's arm slung around her shoulders. Shift had been long today, and she was looking forward to ten blissful, uninterrupted hours of sleep tonight. Sighing quietly, she consoled herself with one thought – _Soon._

Her eyes fluttered open as footsteps approached and a locker opened in the near vicinity.

"Worn out, McNally?" Traci teased.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am," Andy replied, yawning.

"Work?" Traci asked, giving her the once-over. "Or is somebody keeping you up late again?"

"Hilarious, Trace," she said, cracking a small smile.

Traci fixed her with a knowing gaze. "Dismiss it all you want, McNally. I ride with him. It's funny how the mornings you stumble in bleary-eyed and wearing a shit-eating smirk coincide with the mornings he's exhausted and lets me drive."

"Trace! Gross! Stop," Andy half-groaned, half-laughed. "Let's talk about something else, _please_. How was patrol?"

"Good. Quiet for the most part." Crouching on the floor to unlace her boots, Traci flipped off one boot before settling on the bench. "Glad it's the weekend, though."

"Amen," Andy affirmed, yawning again.

"So... Question for you," Traci said, unbuttoning her uniform top. "Just out of general curiosity - What do you have going on tomorrow night?"

"To be honest, I'm not thinking beyond tonight. The plan is to sleep 'til the end of time," she said, laughing. "But provided I recover from this exhaustion, I'm not sure what I'll be doing. I don't have any plans."

Raising her eyebrows, Traci looked at Andy with a hopeful expression. "So do you think I could maybe cash in that babysitting favor? If you're up for it? Jerry wants to take me out tomorrow night, but my mom is visiting her sister this weekend. You would be a life-saver, seriously."

Ceding to her tired bones, Andy plopped herself on the bench next to Traci. "Yeah, sure. I'd love to spend some time with Leo."

"Really? That would be amazing. I would owe you big time."

"Trace – Of course I'm happy to help, and no, you don't owe me," Andy said, nudging her friend with her shoulder.

"Of course," she added, employing her most persuasive tone, "Since we're asking things out of 'general curiosity' - Would it be okay if Sam came too?" Fixing her friend with a toothy smile, she looked at her expectantly.

Shedding her button down for a t-shirt, Traci choked back a laugh. "_Classic, _McNally. And here I thought you were a babysitter who wasn't a stereotype. Look at you, asking if your boyfriend can come over." Mimicking Andy's voice, she added, ""No, Trace, you don't owe me - but look! Strings!"

"Well, normally I'd just sneak him in – Easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask permission," Andy teased. "No, of course I want to make sure it's okay with you. You have the right to say no."

"Thanks for that," Traci replied dryly. "Playing to my mom sensibilities will get you everywhere." Her eyes narrowed as she fixed Andy with a mock-stern glare. "Can you promise me you'll be on your best behavior? **Both** of you?"

"Geez, Trace, it's not like we're teenagers." Rolling her eyes at Traci's skeptical look, Andy added, "What? It's true."

She folded her arms across her chest and eyed Andy suspiciously. "Uh-huh. Sure, no, I get it. You're completely in control of those raging hormones." Slamming her locker shut, she turned to Andy. "I must have imagined those not-so-covert makeout sessions outside of the Penny. You know, after you've gotten an 'emergency' text and you suddenly have to run out to the parking lot. My mistake," she finished, her lips twitching.

Andy blushed, suddenly very interested in the fraying fibers of her sweatshirt sleeve. "No funny business, I promise."

"So, no necking on the couch after Leo has gone to bed?"

"No." Andy promised solemnly, her hand over her heart. A second later, she lifted her hand off her chest and held her thumb and index finger an inch apart. "Okay, maybe a little necking. But nothing more, I swear!"

"In some alternate universe, I am destined to be your conscience, reminding you to keep it in your pants," Traci said, shaking her head and laughing. "But yes, Sam can come. And seriously – thank you. Leo will be through the roof."

* * *

><p>Exiting the locker room, Andy caught sight of Sam waving goodbye to Oliver, truck keys swinging on his index finger.<p>

"Hey," she greeted him, grabbing the keys as she leaned up to kiss his cheek. Rocking back on her heels, she fisted his Henley in her hand and inclined her head toward the parking lot. "Twenty minutes after eight. Ready to jet?"

"All set."

"Just so you know, this is a brief adrenaline spike before I crash and burn." She wrinkled her nose, before schooling her features in a blinding grin. "I'd rather do that on your couch, thank you very much. Or in your bed. At this point, I'm not picky, just exhausted."

He nodded knowingly. "Have we reached the punchy part of the evening?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know, when you get so tired you start rambling nonsense and cracking yourself up. More than usual," he added, a teasing smirk on his lips.

"Mm. See, if I had the energy, I wouldn't let you get away with that."

"But I'm unstoppable tonight?"

She closed her eyes, leaning into his shoulder as he guided them through the door "You're not winning any points, Sam."

"But you love me," he said matter-of-factly, his eyes twinkling.

"Yeah." She slipped an arm around his waist, tilting her chin up to look at him. "Yeah, I do, you punk."

* * *

><p>Sam woke the next morning to the sound of water shutting off in the bathroom. A moment later, Andy slipped into bed, her chilled feet desperately seeking heat between his ankles.<p>

"Are you awake?" she stage-whispered.

Lifting one eyelid, he gazed at her for a long moment before running his hand down her side. Lightly pinching her thigh, he sighed quietly. "Now I am, McNally. Thanks."

She shook her head, amused. "Always so surly in the morning." Settling sideways into the crook of his elbow, she linked their fingers together.

"Mm," he mumbled. "Coffee?"

"In the kitchen," she replied, her eyes dancing. "Waiting for you to make it."

"Harumph," he grumbled, blinking and running a hand through her hair. "It's amazing what ten hours of sleep will do to your humor. Truly astounding."

"A regular ray of sunshine, that Andy McNally," she confirmed.

"Some of us just woke up," he said wryly, fixing her with a bemused look.

"You were awake," she said confidently. "I can tell your true 'asleep' face from your 'just-woke-up-and-trying-to-hide-it' face. And hey! No pinching, Swarek," she said, wriggling out of his grasp.

Sitting up, she turned to face him. "Question. How would you feel about spending tonight with Leo?"

His brow furrowed in confusion. "Nash's kid?"

"Yeah, Trace asked me if I could babysit," Andy said, flopping back on her pillow. "Apparently Jerry's got some fancy-schmancy date cooked up."

"I asked if I could bring you along," she added, running a hand down his chest. "You totally don't have to… I just thought, I don't know, it might be fun."

"And she's okay with me being there?"

"Yeah, as long as we behave ourselves. That means _no pinching_, no biting, no rough-housing. We have to set the example, Sam," she teased.

"Hmm," Sam said thoughtfully, his features drawn and serious. "I don't know if I can agree to those terms, McNally. What about wrestling?"

She raised an eyebrow, feigning disbelief. "Retraining not enough for you? Now you want to take on an eight year old?"

"Who said anything about Leo?" Sam drawled, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a smile. "I meant you and me."

He reached over, gently poking her in the ribs. "I'll let you win," he vowed earnestly, winking.

She shoved him lightly, climbing out of bed and muttering something that sounded like _'incorrigible.'_ "So you in or out, Swarek?"

Clutching his chest with a mock-wounded expression, he replied, "Hey, that's no way to reward a man who's sacrificing dignity and honor for you."

"Honor, sure, that's what this is about," Andy snorted.

"C'mon, I'm kidding, McNally. Do you want me to come?"

Arching an eyebrow, she danced over to the dresser. "It would be nice," she replied breezily. "I wouldn't _mind_ the company."

"Then sure," Sam said, shrugging. "I'm in."

She threw open his bureau drawer, digging around for a pair of socks. "You sure you can keep up with Leo? He doesn't take to everybody."

"What are you talking about? Kids love me." He slid out from under the sheet and followed Andy to the dresser. Leaning in, he slid one hand around her waist, and the other arm over her shoulder, crooking it around her neck. He gently pulled her back into his chest and nipped at the outer shell of her ear. "I'm like Kindergarten Cop, McNally."

"Is that supposed to be a reassurance?"

"Don't be the party pooper, McNally. If Arnie can handle UC and a classroom full of sassy kindergartners, I can handle one eight year old."

* * *

><p>At quarter of six, Andy and Sam stood outside Traci's apartment, ringing the doorbell. "Last chance, Swarek – If you don't leave now, there's no going back."<p>

"Funny, I feel like I've heard that one before," he said, cocking an eyebrow. "Let's get this show on the road, huh?"

Traci opened the door almost immediately, balancing on one foot while slipping the other into a heel. Her cobalt blue dress was one-shouldered, exposing a fair amount of skin and the necklace Jerry had given her for their anniversary. _It's a step up from a pocket knife, don't you think?_ Traci had said to Andy, cackling hysterically. The two had laughed over it for a week, but there was no denying the beauty of the necklace.

"_Ow-Oww_!" Andy catcalled, giving Traci an overly exaggerated 'up-down.' "Look at you, hot mama. Work it."

"Thanks," Traci replied, rolling her eyes. "Come on in, guys." She led them into the kitchen, simultaneously picking up a few scattered toys and applying lip color with a steady hand.

"_Aaaannndy_!" Leo cried, peeling into the hallway. "You're here! I missed you!" Wrapping his arms around her waist, he bounced up and down excitedly. "Guess what? Mom said we can make homemade pizza tonight!"

Traci looked at her apologetically. "He's just a _little_ revved up about you being here." Turning to Leo, she guided an arm around his shoulder and pointed in Sam's direction. "Leo, hun, you remember Mr. Swarek? He rides with Mom in the police car."

"Just '_Sam'_ is fine, Traci." Crouching down, he held up his hand to Leo for a high-five. "It's good to see you again, buddy."

Traci circled the kitchen, grabbing her clutch and her car keys. "So, yes, pizza. There's a ball of dough in the fridge; you just have to roll it out. Sauce is in the cabinet, cheese is in the deli drawer in the fridge, and anything else you want to add… Well, I'll let you scope out the options. You know where to find stuff. Thanks for doing this, Andy. I have my phone if you need anything; don't hesitate to call. Leo –" she bent down to kiss his cheek. "Be good for Andy and Sam, ok? Best behavior. I'm gonna get the full report later. Love you."

"Mom can I stay up just a little bit later to play with Andy? _Puh-lease_?"

She looked at him for a long moment, hand on her hip. "You can have an extra 30 minutes since you don't have school tomorrow. But brush your teeth before any movies, not after, ok?"

Glancing up at Andy, she added, "Bed by 8:30. He'll go in easily– What am I saying? You know what to do. Sorry, I'm just a little frazzled tonight."

"Trace," Andy said, laying a calming hand on her arm. "_We'll be fine_. You look beautiful. Have a nice time, ok? I promise to call if I need you."

She returned Andy's warm smile, hugging her best friend. "Thanks." Pulling away, she turned to Sam. "Sam, thanks again."

He smiled, acknowledging her with a quick nod. "Jerry won't know what hit him, Nash."

"Thanks." Turning to press one last kiss to Leo's head, Traci repeated, "Best behavior, Leo." Straightening up, she made for the door, spinning on her heel to catch Andy's eye at the last moment.

"Best behavior," she mouthed, pointing at Sam.

* * *

><p>After an hour in the kitchen spent locating the pepperoni, chopping the green pepper and onions, and mocking Sam mercilessly for his pizza preferences, the trio sat at the kitchen table, stomachs full and bodies content.<p>

"So what's next?" Leo asked, wiping the milk mustache from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Finish your carrots, and we'll talk business, kiddo," Andy answered, pushing his plate back to him. She stood and squeezed Sam's shoulder as she walked over to the dishwasher. "You too, Sam."

"All done!" Leo cried a few minutes later. "Movie?" he asked eagerly, an expectant smile on his face.

Andy grinned in return. "We can watch a movie before you go to bed, but what do you want to do between now and then?" She circled the room, tapping her chin and pretending to mull over their options. "I mean, we could play trucks, or pirates, or…"

"Alien Invasion!" Leo cut in impatiently. "Aliens! Please, please!"

Andy nodded readily, pointing a finger in Sam's direction. "And we could make Sam…"

"Yes! Great idea," he said, shaking his head vigorously. "Sam – you get to be the Martian!"

Sam chuckled at the boy's enthusiasm. "And what exactly does that entail?"

Leo jumped up, grabbing Sam's hand and leading him into the living room. "C'mon, follow me." Andy followed in their wake, a smile forming on her lips.

"This can be your spaceship," he continued, pointing to the loveseat. "You have to be an alien from outer space, coming to Earth to take over, and we're the superheroes who are defending the planet! Right, Andy?"

"Right-o!" Laughing loudly, she turned to Sam and explained, "I usually have to be the alien."

An unbidden smile graced Sam's lips. "I think I can handle it," he answered easily.

"You have to talk in an alien voice, too," Leo instructed. "Listen: _Just. Like. This_." His robotic inflection and garbled tone complemented a stiff, exaggerated walk to the toy chest. Sorting through the toys, he found an alien mask and thrust it at Sam. "Oh, and aliens have to wear masks. But we can't look you directly in the eyes, otherwise you might brainwash us."

Andy stood with her arms folded across her chest, lips twitching suspiciously. "This is big-league stuff we're talking, Swarek. Are you ready for it?"

"_I. Think. I've. Got. It. Covered._" Sam replied in a robotic timbre. Squatting down to Leo's level, he looked to the eight year old for confirmation. "Good, right? Will that work?"

Leo looked at Sam for a long moment before nodding sharply. "Yup!" Racing to his room, he came back out with a red fleece blanket and a _Cars _bed sheet, as Andy gaped openly in the background. "Andy, we have to wear our capes!"

Shaking herself from her reverie, Andy nodded diplomatically, reaching for the bed sheet. "We should probably make our shields first. What do you think, buddy?"

"Yeah!" Leo said enthusiastically. "Let's do that."

Ten minutes later Andy was helping Leo glue a layer of tinfoil to their cardboard shield cutout. After much deliberation, they decided to add a giant "L" to the shield with bright red construction paper.

"_L_ for Leo!" he cried, striking an impressive pose. He practiced a few superhero moves, kicking and spinning across the room while holding his shield up for effect.

"Hey, Sam?" he said breathlessly, after a few minutes of stage-fighting. "Maybe you should wear an _L_ too."

"Oh, yeah? Why is that?"

He grinned devilishly. "Because you're going to _lose_!"

"Is that right?" Sam asked, stalking forward with an eerie look on his face, his fingers wiggling and his mouth making funny, robotic noises.

"Yes!" Leo shrieked, then, "Andy! Don't let him get too close! He'll suck out our brains!"

* * *

><p>"I guess we should wake him," Andy whispered, motioning to Leo, who was sprawled across the couch, asleep. As the credits for <em>Monsters, Inc<em>. rolled across the screen, she bent down and smoothed a hand across his forehead. "Poor guy. I think 'Alien Invasion' really wore him out."

Snuggled underneath a blanket, Leo had one thin arm covering his eyes, his faded Batman pajama top riding up his chest. His breathing was deep and regular, and Andy was glad Traci insisted on teeth-brushing before the movie.

"No, it's ok," Sam responded, gently pushing past Andy. "I got him." Leaning over the boy's sleeping form, he slid one arm behind his back and the other under his knees. He carefully cradled Leo to his chest, smiling at Andy. "Lead the way, copper."

Biting her lip and ducking her head, Andy let a tiny smile escape when her back was turned. She walked ahead quickly, opening Leo's bedroom door and flipping the comforter down. "You can put him right here."

With careful, practiced ease, Sam laid Leo on the bed and reached for the comforter. Fixing Leo's pajama top and the sock that was threatening to fall off, Sam gingerly tucked him in and picked up the worn teddy bear that lay next to the bed. Placing the stuffed animal in the crook of his elbow, Sam stepped back to observe.

Leo's hand instinctively closed around the bear, snuggling it close. Nodding once, Sam stooped to switch on the night light that was by the bed and backed quietly out of the room.

Andy met him at the door and they stood there for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, watching him sleep. Sighing quietly, she reached for Sam's hand and gently closed the door, leading him back into the living room.

"Hey, how did you know he sleeps with that bear?"

"I didn't. But the bear looks like he's been loved a lot, and he was right next to the bed. I just assumed."

She nudged him with her shoulder, eliciting a small smile. "You've got good instincts for this stuff, Swarek."

"Yeah, they're not too bad. You don't have to sound so surprised, McNally," he teased.

Scooping up the pillows and re-folding the blankets that were strewn across the room, Andy began to tidy the living room. After walking the half-eaten bowl of popcorn into the kitchen, she returned to the couch, flopping down and exhaling loudly. "So what did you think of the movie?"

"Eh, it was fine," Sam said, joining her.

"I saw you trying to hide that smile. You thought it was cute, didn't you?" she asked, her tone playfully accusing.

"It wasn't the worst movie I've ever seen," he admitted, slipping an arm around her shoulders and settling into the cushions.

"It was funny," Andy stated firmly, as if that settled the matter. "Listen, I made the mistake of watching _Up_ once with Traci and Leo. Let me just say, I went in blindly, and I was _not_ prepared for the waterworks. That little old man…" She trailed off, catching Sam's eye. "What? It was a good movie, but those first fifteen minutes were cruel."

"Yeah, I know," he said, smiling. "I took Hannah and Abby to see it in the theater."

"Mm, Uncle Sam strikes again," she teased, patting his chest.

"That's right." Brushing his hand through Andy's hair, he listened for the low, contented hum in her throat. They remained quiet for a few minutes, save for Andy's tiny sighs.

Pulling away after a spell, Sam studied her before opening his mouth. "So can I ask you a question? You're cool as a cucumber about taking care of Leo, but you psyched yourself out about meeting the Shaw girls?"

She stretched lazily, seeking his shoulder again. "Yeah, well, girls are different."

"I'm not trying to be facetious here, but _you're_ a girl, Andy."

"I know. But girls are difficult to please. I was always better at being one of the boys, I guess." She looked up to meet Sam's gaze, and he nodded in understanding.

"It's a blessing and a curse," she joked. "I can't really explain it."

"I can see that," he mumbled into the hair, trailing his fingers across her bare arm. "Well, for what it's worth, I think I like you better as a girl."

"Yeah, it definitely has its perks," she answered, smiling at him.

He was silent for a beat, then, "Perks, sure, if that's what you want to call them." Squeezing her knee, he ducked away from the hand that shot toward his chest.

"_Sam_," she said, her eyes full of mirth. "If you were anyone else I would have made you pay for that remark."

"Good thing I'm not anyone else, then."

She shook her head in amusement before shrugging her shoulders. "Well, we have a near-empty apartment, and Mom and Dad won't be home for another hour or two."

"That's a clear window if I ever saw one," Sam declared.

"Hmm, so we're on the same page?" she asked, moving to straddle his lap.

"Yeah. This is actually one of my favorite books," he answered, his mouth tugging up in a grin.

"Good," she said, silencing him with a kiss. Pulling back abruptly, she rested her hands on his chest and gazed at him steadily. "But save the perks for later, okay? When we're back at your place."

* * *

><p>They had left Traci's apartment unscathed, save for an embarrassing moment when Traci had pointed to her neck as she hugged Andy goodbye, whispering, "That's what I thought, McNally." It was only when she flipped open the vanity mirror in Sam's truck that Andy noticed the small love bite on her neck. Her phone buzzed a moment later, and she stifled a laugh.<p>

"Glad you had fun. I'll expect a full report tomorrow, in exchange for the non-kosher details I left out this evening for Sam's benefit."

Her phone buzzed again, and this time, Andy couldn't prevent a giggle from escaping.

"And no complaints when Jerry and I sit for _your_ kids someday, hussy."

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later Andy was sprawled across Sam's couch, sipping the last few swallows of her beer. Her mind was on Traci's text, and when she heard Sam shuffling in the next room, she called out without thinking.<p>

"Hey Sam? Do you ever think about kids?"

She heard the echo of approaching footsteps as Sam wandered in from the kitchen.

"Sure," he said nonchalantly. Taking a seat on the sofa, he pulled Andy's legs into his lap. "Short. Sticky fingers. Given enough sugar, they might take over the world."

Catching her pointed glare, his voice softened. "Yeah, McNally. I think everybody thinks about kids sometime."

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. Like, having your own." She stopped abruptly before continuing, "Not _**now**_, I mean. Just… in the future. Like, has 'Future Sam' thought about kids?"

His lips twitched suspiciously, but he cleared his throat before responding. "You know I love the Shaw girls, and my nieces like they're my own." He paused, mulling over his answer. "So to answer your question – Yes, I've thought about kids, but it just never seemed like the right time."

She picked at the hem of her shirt, studiously ignoring his eyes. "Yeah? Why is that?"

Sighing, he traced a pattern over her ankle with his thumb, skimming his fingers over her lower calf as he considered his response. "Undercover work wasn't exactly conducive to the family lifestyle, Andy."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," she said. An edge of bitterness crept into her voice as she mumbled, "Most parents don't just take off."

Staring at her for a long moment, he tugged her arm and urged her to sit upright. His gaze remained steady as he looked into her eyes. "You're right. They don't. But when they do, that's not the kid's fault, Andy. That is the parent's _choice_."

She bit her lip and looked at her lap. Sam, for his part, laced his fingers through hers.

His voice was softer when he spoke again. "I didn't really do 'relationships' in my months off, so I wasn't entertaining the idea of a family. Sarah was my family."

She nodded, prompting him to continue.

"To some extent, Fifteen was my family, too. Jerry, Oliver… You stick with your rookie class, you know?"

"Yeah, that makes sense."

"But Ollie had his own family," he said, grinning impishly, "And, uh… I was holding out for someone prettier than Jerry."

She choked back a laugh, burrowing into his side and trailing her fingers across his chest. "Lucky for Traci."

"The truth is, I can't say I met anyone who I wanted to become a parent with. Who made me even consider it," he concluded.

"Oh."

"Yeah," he continued, his eyes boring into hers. "Until pretty recently."

"_Oh,_" she repeated in a softer voice. Looking into his dark eyes, she felt something flutter in her stomach, not unpleasantly.

"Why?" he asked seriously. "You ever think about 'em?"

"Not much in the past," she answered honestly. "But… I don't know." Scraping at the label of her discarded beer bottle, she exhaled deeply. "Certain things make you think, you know?"

"Yeah," Sam echoed softly.

"I never thought I'd be any good at it," she continued in a quieter voice.

"At what? Parenting?" he said, furrowing his brow.

He took her silence for affirmation, and when he spoke again, his voice was firm. "I don't think anyone pretends to be an expert at parenting, Andy. You love your kids, plain and simple. You put a roof over their heads and food in their mouths, and you teach them to be kind. To listen. To respect others. To work hard, and to make their way in the world."

"_I know that_, Sam," she said quietly. "Inherently, I know that. But I just… I don't know, I feel like there's so much room for error, and I don't exactly have a glowing record."

"I don't think anyone has a spotless record, Andy. Everybody's family history is messy and confusing. Some people are just better at dealing with it, and some are better at hiding it."

"_Andy_. Hey. Look at me," he implored. "You put the lives of strangers first, day after day. You go out of your way to help them. Why would it be any different with your own kids?"

She met his gaze and blinked quickly, a small bit of moisture disappearing from the corner of her eye.

"Hey. I'm just asking you to look at it from my perspective," he said, bringing his lips to her temple. "I've seen you with Leo, I've seen you with the Shaws, I've seen you with my nieces. I think you'd be a pretty great mom, if you ask me."

She was quiet for a minute, and she squeezed his hand before speaking again. "You keep your kids safe. You teach them the difference between right and wrong. You watch them succeed, and you watch them make mistakes. You pick them back up, and you encourage them."

"Yeah," Sam asserted. "That sounds right."

"So uh, based on that list, Mr. Training Officer – It sounds like you might be pretty good at this dad thing, huh?"

He looked down at her with a broad grin on his face. "I can't say the thought doesn't scare the hell out of me, but – That's what makes it fun, right?"

"You have the bedtime routine down pat," she said, smiling at him.

Chuckling, he rubbed his jaw. "Yeah, I'm a bedtime sensei. I can teach others the art of telling stories before bed, tucking kids in…"

"It's a pretty appealing trait, if I'm being honest."

"I'm a pretty appealing guy," he said candidly, winking.

"So, uh – Any specific timeline?" she questioned, avoiding his eyes once more.

"For–?"

"For when 'Future Sam' is thinking about kids?"

He smiled, easing Andy into his lap. "Nah, Future Sam is pretty flexible. He's got a good head on his shoulders. He would wait for the right girl."

"That's good. That's good," she repeated softly. "Future Sam sounds like a pretty sensible guy."

"He is. And uh, for the record, Present Sam isn't so bad, either."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah," Sam said, pressing a gentle kiss to her collarbone. "From what I hear, Present Sam is pretty head over heels for Present Andy."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading! As always, feel free to leave a suggestion of a 'first' you would like to see.<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you so much for the gracious feedback on the last chapter, and for continued favorites, alerts, and subscriptions. I'm so happy that readers are enjoying this series!**

**The following is the Christmas outtake, as promised. These scenes predate those of Chapter 3.**

* * *

><p><strong>First Christmas (outtake).<strong>

"Andy?" Sam said, his voice echoing in the hallway as he stamped his boots at the front door.

"Hey," she called from the living room. "In here."

Sam walked over to find her sprawled across the couch, half-eaten candy cane caught between her teeth. She was flipping through a home décor magazine – just one of many scattered knick-knacks that had recently snuck into his house, unbidden.

Popping the candy cane from her mouth, she sat up and greeted him with a quick kiss. "Howdy, stranger." Shivering slightly as Sam's rough palm slid under her t-shirt and came to rest on her lower back, she hummed purposefully into his mouth.

"Hi." He pulled back slightly and chuckled, running his tongue across his lips. "Sticky peppermint… Just what I was hoping for, thanks," he teased.

She fell back into the cushions, tucking her legs underneath her as she patted the couch. "Come sit. We have lots to talk about."

"Mmm, is that right?" he asked, circling the couch. Shrugging off his jacket and draping it over an armchair, he eased into the seat next to her.

"How was your shift?"

"Long," he said, exhaling and closing his eyes briefly. His head swiveled, and he eyed her curiously. "But enough about me for the moment. What are you wearing, exactly?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "Um, clothes?" She pointed to each article of clothing in succession. "Sweatshirt, pajama shorts, socks. Pretty standard fare, officer."

He pointed to her feet. "Yeah, and what holiday-crazed soccer player did you rip those off of, McNally?"

She wrinkled her nose at him, readjusting her knee-high socks. Okay, so _busy_ was a tame description. Green and red and white-striped, the socks were sprinkled with tiny elf hats, glittering against the soft light of the living room. _But they were cute, _she thought.

"I like them," she said primly, setting her mouth in a firm line.

"Mmmhmm," he echoed, clearly amused.

"I'm not asking you to like them."

"Okay then."

"But you should know I bought you a pair for Christmas." At his dubious look, she grinned and burrowed into his side, pulling at the hem of his thermal. "No, I wish. You're too cool for Christmas socks."

Tugging her to his chest, he rubbed his thumb across the hollow of her collarbone. "Yeah, something like that."

"So. When are we decorating this place?"

His brow furrowed and he glanced briefly around the room. "_This_ place or _your_ place?"

She shrugged her shoulders, unconcerned. "Well, both, I guess."

"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but this house hasn't seen the likes of Christmas decorations since before I was a homeowner. If I'm not undercover, I'm in St. Catharine's for Christmas – I never had a good reason for investing in decorations."

"_What?_" she mouthed in disbelief. "Not a single decoration?"

"Well, my mom left a tiny Christmas crèche that I put out every year, but other than that… No. No decorations."

She sucked in a breath, her mouth puckering into a tiny "O." Shaking her head, she looked at him in disapproval. "I'm gonna say this right now… This could be a dealbreaker, Swarek. I take the holidays very seriously, and a man without a tree or a garish light display? Why, he's no man at all."

He cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Funny, McNally, you've been whistling a different tune for the past month or so."

She shook her head again, undeterred. "You have a truck, for crying out loud. There is _no_ reason why you shouldn't have a tree."

"You wanna go pick out a tree?"

Her eyes lit up. "Um, hi. Is that even a question? Yes. Of course."

"Okay then. But it's going in your apartment," he stated firmly.

A lesser woman would have pouted. Andy settled for sighing heavily and throwing her stocking-clad legs in his lap. "Fine. But it has to be real!"

He caught her heel and gently pushed her foot back to her. "Then to reiterate: It's _definitely_ going in your apartment. I'm not dealing with the hassle of pine needles. And you have to go put on real clothes if we're going out tonight."

"Party pooper," she said, wrinkling her nose. Fidgeting on the couch, she proceeded to add a number of stipulations. "It has to be a good size. And no Charlie Brown trees!"

"I'm starting to think Old Ebenezer didn't hate the holidays; he just had a bossy woman in his life," Sam muttered. "We'll go to one tree lot, and no whining, got it?"

"I'm buying an angel for the top, not a star," she maintained, holding her ground.

"Do what you have to do."

They were silent for a beat, each lost in memories of former Christmas celebrations and traditions.

"Hey, Sam?" Andy asked quietly.

He was still for a moment before reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, McNally?"

"Thank you."

* * *

><p>The next morning, Sam woke to an empty bed, sheets cool and wrinkled. Stretching lazily, he scrubbed his face, struck by the smell of pine and sap that lingered. The smell had proven nearly impossible to wash off his hands, and he was the furthest thing from a happy camper about it.<p>

After careful deliberation in the tree lot, Andy had selected a five-foot conifer, adding coolly, '_Be nice, I could have picked something larger.'_ One hour later, Sam had hauled it to the fourth floor of the condo complex and set it up in a stand, to Andy's delight. Clapping eagerly, she had examined it from every possible angle and declared it "perfect."

Perfect, sure, except for that stupid smell that had seeped into his every pore.

Shuffling to the kitchen, he was grateful that they had decided to come back to his place last night. At least there was the hope that the scent would gradually dissipate.

Andy sat cross-legged on the wooden chair, a pen tucked behind her ear and her hand propped under her chin. Glancing up as Sam entered the kitchen, she offered a quick "Good morning," and her gaze returned to table: An evergreen wreath lay in front of her, next to a pile of pinecones, berries, and ribbon. Silver paint, two giant plaid bows, and what looked to be a row of jingle bells rounded out the mix.

"You're up early this morning," he said, kissing the top of her head as he rounded the kitchen table to get to the coffee maker. "What gives?"

"Catching the worm," Andy explained, shrugging her shoulders. Crossing an item off the list in front of her, she reached for her mug and took a sip of coffee. "And don't you dare manipulate that into some poorly-conceived joke."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sam said airily, waggling his eyebrows. Rustling for juice in the fridge, he asked, "So all this is…?"

She tossed her hair, smirking cockily. "I'm like the MacGyver of Christmas decorations. Give me three items, and I'll turn it into a fabulous holiday ornament for your tree, or your house, or your car…"

"My truck is in desperate need of decoration?" he questioned.

"Well, the scented little pine tree is a good start, but your truck could use a little more holiday lovin'."

"Mmm," he said, leaning over the back of her chair and resting his chin on the top of her head. "My truck's not the only thing that could use some holiday lovin'."

She tipped her head back, resisting the urge to smile. "I'm glad we've established that 'normal' for you is a helluva lot of innuendo. For a formerly gruff T.O., you sure maintain high spirits with every passing, suggestive remark."

"It's a gift," he said seriously, his tone betrayed by the slight glint in his eye. Tugging her ponytail, he stepped away from the table and popped a piece of toast in the toaster. "Hey, any spray paint happens outside, ok?"

She wrinkled her nose in disdain. "Thanks, _Dad_," she said, rolling her eyes.

He ignored her wisecrack and slipped into a chair. "You sure you have a handle on all of this?"

"I pack some serious heat. On the job, and with my glue gun," she said, holding up the tool for effect. "Just you wait and see."

"Ok, well I have to run a few errands this afternoon. Will you be okay here by yourself?"

"Yup, as long as you're cool with it."

"The coolest," he said in a teasing voice. "Have fun. And hey," he continued, pointing to the glue gun and adopting his T.O. voice. "Watch where you point that thing."

* * *

><p><em>Sleigh bells ring, are you listening? In the lane, snow is glistening…<em>

Dancing across the kitchen floor, Andy hummed along with the music and popped the oven door open, checking on the pot roast inside. Hoisting a cutting board laden with freshly diced vegetables, she used the edge of her knife to push them into the saucepan. With a cursory glance of approval, she stepped back, adjusted the temperature, and set the timer.

Rinsing her coffee mug in the sink, she poured herself a cup of hot cocoa from the pan simmering on the stove. After a brief ransack of Sam's kitchen cupboards left her empty-handed, she grabbed a pen from the countertop. Uncapping it with her teeth, she added '_Pick up marshmallows'_ to her list of to-dos.

_Relationship Lesson #14: If you want something sugary, don't expect to find it in Sam's pantry._

Marshmallow absence aside, it had been a pretty successful day.

She had completed two Christmas wreaths, addressed four holiday cards to her fellow rookies, watched a hokey, made-for-TV movie that Sam would have mocked relentlessly, and personalized a stocking for his mantel with fabric paint. _Step one on the road to redecoration. Or, decoration as it were._

Grateful for the warmth of the cocoa that was heating her hands, she clutched the mug tightly and wandered into the living room. Grabbing her phone from the coffee table, she settled into the armchair to text Sam. _Dinner in an hour? Hope the errands are going well. _Taking a sip from her mug, she sighed contentedly as the chocolate goodness coated her throat.

A second later, she heard the key turn in the lock, and the door opened and slammed again.

Sam entered the room, two shopping bags in hand and a surprised look on his face. "Hey. You're still here."

"Well aren't you a beacon of Christmas cheer," she said, standing up to greet him with a kiss. "I just texted you. Hello to you, too."

He frowned, setting the bags down and running a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I'm just distracted."

Reaching up, she carefully thumbed the creases around his eyes, smoothing the wrinkles. Pressing her lips together, she said lightly, "If you're up for it, I made dinner."

"You didn't have to do that," he mumbled, catching her wrist and running his thumb over the soft skin there.

"I wanted to," she insisted with a blinding grin. "And I had time." Switching subjects, she tried to rouse him from his reverie. "Hey! Did you see the door? Good, right?"

"The wreath?" His gaze softened and he released her wrist. "Yeah, McNally, it's beautiful."

"I made one for my apartment, too. You're not the only one who is good with tools," she said, cocking her finger in a gun shape and blowing across the imaginary muzzle. "I was a beast with that glue gun."

"Hmm," he said absentmindedly. "That's nice."

Narrowing her eyes, she stared at him in confusion. When he didn't meet her eyes, she grabbed his hand and led him over to the couch."Ok," she instructed, "Sit. Now, are you going to tell me what has you in this funk?"

Exhaling deeply, he took a seat and propped his feet up on the coffee table. "It's dumb, really. I'm not cut out for holiday shopping," he replied.

Rubbing the back of his neck wearily, he shut his eyes and held up one finger. "Pro: After today's three-ring circus at the department store, I crossed Sarah and Will off my list." Switching fists, he held up another finger. "Con: I couldn't find anything for the girls."

"Why didn't you ask me?" she said, furrowing her brow. "I would have gone with you."

He shook his head. "I didn't want to interrupt your afternoon, especially when you were getting all – you know, crafty and stuff. And I've managed every other year; I didn't think this one would be different."

"This year's different for a slew of reasons, Swarek," she said playfully. "Look, we'll go the mall tomorrow, ok? I'm actually pretty decent at this kind of stuff. I'll help you find something."

"I'm at a loss," he said. "I don't know when it became so hard to shop for Hannah."

"That's because you were never an eleven year old girl," Andy reminded him, poking him gently. "She likes to read, yeah?"

"Read, write, talk… She's a young scholar, that one."

"Okay, so we'll check out the bookstore," Andy said confidently. "We can look up some popular young adult books online. Now what about Abby? I thought you said you were getting her a doll? That seems straightforward enough."

"Yeah, that's what you would think," Sam huffed. "First of all the store was insane, crawling with bickering parents and whiny kids. I almost wish I had gone in uniform."

"So no luck?"

"No, I couldn't find anything for her. They have these weird dolls in the kids section… Girl monsters in bizarre colors. Dracula, Frankenstein, some Ghoul, I don't know," he said, waving his hands around in frustration. "Seriously, why any little girl would wanna play with them is beyond me."

"Sounds tough," she said, her voice sympathetic, but her mouth tugging into a smile.

"Sarah would not let those things into her house, I'll tell you that." He groaned, standing up and walking toward the kitchen. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he opened it with a flick of his wrist and took a long pull. "Next year they're getting gift cards, I swear."

* * *

><p>The following afternoon, snowflakes drifted aimlessly as Sam and Andy wandered down the street and paused in front of a department store window.<p>

"Window displays," Andy said, her mittened hands pressing against the glass. "I love to look at them. Shiny and bright and cheery – It's like a perfect Christmas moment, captured and frozen in time."

"Right?" she asked, turning to look at Sam. "They're just so pretty and festive."

Linking her hand with his, she pulled him down the sidewalk to the entrance of the mall. "Game face, Swarek. We're not coming out of here today without Christmas presents. Failure is not an option."

He squinted his eyes and pursed his lips. "Yeah, _you're_ not competitive or anything."

Puffing her chest out in mock-bravado, she spoke firmly. "Competition is the name of the game. We're running a race against time and other crazed shoppers." Patting her arms, she added, "I'm ready to throw some 'bows if necessary. These things can be deadly."

Mimicking a pump-fake, she planted a foot and pivoted around Sam's body, digging her elbow into his jacket. "And that's without a basketball," she crowed. "Watch out, shoppers. _Andy McNally in the house._"

Shaking his head, Sam grabbed her elbow and steered her to the Map Directory. "One: You've got to stop consuming copious amounts of coffee before we go out in public. Two: I don't know whether to be overwhelmed by your insanity or awed by your dedication."

"Awed, always awed," Andy reassured him, a smile on her face. "I'm just teasing. For the most part. Okay, here's the plan…"

* * *

><p>"What'd I tell you, Sam?" she said, two hours later. "All I do is win, win, win, no matter what."<p>

"You did good, copper; I'll give you that," he answered.

"Four books! _Four of them_! A trilogy set and an independent read. That's what I call success."

Sam smiled silently, content to let Andy rave about the gifts they had found.

"And how cute is that doll? Gosh, I love cloth dolls. Soft yarn hair, cute eyes, and those teeny, tiny embroidered clothes?" She grinned and linked her arm through Sam's. "They're the best."

"I have to admit, I fared much better today than I did yesterday, due in large part to present company," he piped up.

"I'm on a shopping high, I think," she interjected. "Man oh man. They should have a holiday mash-up of 'Eye of the Tiger.' I am feeling _good_."

Rolling his eyes in amusement, Sam decided to switch gears. "_So_," he said, anticipating Andy's request for a hot chocolate and dragging her over to the coffee kiosk. "What does Andy McNally want for Christmas?

She shook her head solemnly. "Nope. That's between me and Santa Claus."

"Secrets never come out neat and tidy, Andy," he persisted, slipping two fingers into her belt loops and pulling her closer. "Sooner or later…" he trailed off ominously.

"If you want to know, you have to ask him," Andy said, pointing toward _Santa's Village_, where a Mall Santa was fully outfitted and sitting on an ornate gold throne. Three elves in red and green costumes flitted about, one with a camera in hand, and the other two passing out candy canes and flyers.

"No," he said firmly for her benefit. "Forget about it."

"Saaaam," she drawled, her tone wheedling. "It could be fun, you know."

_"No_," he repeated emphatically, shaking his head.

"Not even for Christmas?"

"For Christmas? Look at the line! No, Andy. I'm not about to skip along and sit on a grown man's lap to figure out what kind of present you want."

"You don't have to sit on his lap," she insisted. "You can stand next to the throne."

"I'll sit on his lap," she added, brightening. "Problem solved."

He glared openly at her. "Problem _not_ solved. I'd rather you not sit on some strange man's lap, thank you very much."

"Tsk, tsk," she said, clucking softly. "The holiday season is all about sharing and caring, Sam."

"Not when it comes to lap privileges, Andy!"

"C'mon, Sam," she said quietly, her eyes wide. "Consider it my reward for being a fantastic helper today. You have to admit, I'm better than one of Santa's elves." Tucking one hand under her chin and the other on her hip, she posed theatrically, adding, "Cuter, too."

He was silent.

"How about this: We both get hot chocolate, and we can sip it and talk while we wait in line. I won't even sit on Santa's lap. We can both crouch down, okay?"

He continued to stare at her, not budging.

"Sam?" she prompted.

"Andy, the whole Mall Santa thing is creepy. Who knows what kind of priors this guy has?"

She let out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes. "Why does everything come back to criminal records?"

"Because it's a dangerous world out there, McNally," he replied immediately, unblinking.

"I hardly think one photo with Santa is going to do you in," she said firmly. "Or blow your reputation, if that's what you're concerned about."

Rubbing his jaw, he studied her for a long moment. She bounced on her feet, silently begging, as the crowds swirled around them.

"Can we leave after this?"

"Yes. Immediately." Holding her breath, she looked at him expectantly.

He sighed.

"_One_ photo, _no lap_, and you're buying the hot chocolate."

"Deal." She beamed, extending her hand. "You drive a tough bargain, Swarek, but I knew you'd see it my way eventually."

"Write this down, McNally, and remember it next time you request some ridiculous favor."

* * *

><p><em><strong>A Week Later...<strong>_

Approaching Andy by the Division coffee station, Sam glanced at his watch nonchalantly before addressing her. "Dinner. 6pm. Tonight. You're still game?"

Spinning on her heel, she tossed the wooden stirrer away and met his gaze. "Of course! We're exchanging presents, right? And you're still cooking?"

"Of course," he said winking. "One holiday special, coming right up."

She smiled slyly. "Is that right?"

"Mmmhmm," he murmured, leaning in ever so slightly. "I'd like to spend a little time with you before I drive up to St. Catharine's." Pulling back, he brushed by her and walked over to his desk. "But, uh – Maybe leave the crazy socks at home this time around, okay?"

She scrunched her nose, placing a hand on her hip. "Are you telling me there's a dress code for this dinner?"

"I'm just saying it might be a nice opportunity to dress up," he called over his shoulder.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, following him to his desk and feigning offense. "I'm always dressed to impress."

"Great," he said, smiling mischievously. "Then I'll see you later, Officer McNally."

* * *

><p>At five of six, Andy rang Sam's doorbell, her heel tapping to the reverberating chime. A moment later, Sam flung open the door, and she was greeted with a rare – but not unpleasant – sight.<p>

"Wow."

"I could say the same thing."

"A button down AND a sweater?" She stepped across the threshold and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "You've outdone yourself, sir."

"Just one of many surprises coming your way, McNally," he said, taking her jacket. She smiled kindly, smoothing out the wrinkles of her hunter green dress and adjusting her white cardigan.

Placing a hand on her lower back, he guided her down the hallway. "This way to the surprises."

Biting her lip, she glanced behind her shoulder and caught his eye. "I can't decide if it's weird that we can't act like this at work, or if it's weird that we act like this at home.

He nodded in affirmation. "Yeah, it will take some getting used to, I imagine."

"I don't mind," she said, smiling. "I'm glad to be here now."

"I'm glad you're here," he reciprocated, his mouth tugging up in a grin as he looked at her expectantly.

Spinning on her heel, she came to an abrupt halt at the entranceway to the living room and inhaled sharply.

"_Oh, Sam_…" she whispered. "It's beautiful."

A small, three-foot tree stood in the corner, decorated with tiny, white lights that sparkled in the dim room. The tree, adorned with gold and red balls, was wrapped with a plush tree skirt and topped with a small angel.

"Artificial," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "No messy needles to clean up. It's tiny, and I can put it up next year, how about that?" Wrapping his arms around her waist, he rested his chin on her shoulder and whispered softly in her ear, "Merry Christmas, Andy."

Speechless, she continued to stare at the tree, mesmerized by its beauty.

"Can't have presents without a tree, McNally," he said easily. "Dinner will be ready in another 30 minutes or so. In the meantime, your present is waiting for you over there."

Pushing her gently in the direction of the tree, he added, "There were a few different angel options, but I liked the brunette angel best."

She slowly approached the Christmas display, stooping to pick up the present underneath the tree. Fingering the gift lightly, she laughed when she examined the silver snowflake wrapping paper. "You wrapped this yourself, didn't you? I can tell because of how messy the scotch tape is." Returning to Sam's side, she gently tapped his chest, shaking her head.

"Damn it, Sam," she said accusingly. "You do these sweet, unexpected things, and I just…"

"You just…?"

Sighing, she wrapped her arms around him in a hug and whispered a quiet "Thank you" in his ear. Gesturing for him to sit down, she pulled a flat package wrapped in reindeer paper from her bag.

"Open them at the same time?"

Lacing his fingers through hers, he knelt by the coffee table in front of the tree and pulled her down with him. "Sounds like a plan."

Tearing open the reindeer paper, Sam found a beautiful wooden frame nestled in the flat box. Divided into two partitions, the frame held a picture of them from their first night at the Penny following their suspensions. Sam's smile was carefree, and Andy had her arm looped over his shoulder, beaming.

The second picture was a copy of their photo from _Santa's Village, _which Andy had wrestled and hid from him, citing "a really unfortunate blinking accident on my part." In truth, the picture was lovely; they had decided to stand next to each other to the right of Santa. Andy, wearing his favorite ear-to-ear grin, looked happy and content, and Sam was no less pleased in the photo, although his gaze was focused on Andy's expression rather than the camera's lens. Andy had meticulously stenciled their names and the year into the lower right hand corner of the frame, adding a personal and delicate touch.

"It's not too early for pictures, right?" she said, appraising his face and looking slightly nervous.

"No," he replied, tracing the outline of the frame. "Not too early at all."

Gingerly breaking the seal of her parcel, Andy discarded the wrapping paper and lifted the lid of a tiny white box. Nestled inside was a sleek, pewter lioness, a rather silly expression on its face for a jungle cat. Attached to its back was a loop of shiny red ribbon, ideal for hanging.

"It's a little hokey, but I figured you could add it to your ornament collection. You know, for your real, _live_ tree," he teased. "It was either that or a snowman dressed in a police uniform, but I opted for the more subtle parallel."

"I love it," she said softly. Meeting his eyes, she smiled widely, a mirror of the photo in his lap. "Thank you, Sam."

He sobered, carefully gauging her expression. "I'm glad you like it." Leaning in, he nudged her nose with his own, pressing a light kiss to her lips.

She smiled into his mouth, kissing him in return. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas."

Spinning around gingerly, Andy leaned her back against Sam's chest and reached for his arms, guiding them around her waist. "This is nice, you know? We should do this every holiday."

"Every holiday, huh? Somebody sounds like she's forward thinking."

"Well, when you know..."

"What, exactly?" he teased. "_What_ do you know, Andy?"

Bypassing his upper arms, where his sleeves were pushed to his elbow, she began to trace a light pattern on his exposed skin. "Well, I know what I still want for Christmas."

He chuckled lowly. "You're not, uh, going to feed me some cheesy line right now, are you? Like, "_All I want for Christmas is you_."

She broke away from him, laughing boisterously. "No. Definitely not. In fact, since you brought it up, _**you're **_going to feed _**me**_." As if on cue, her stomach grumbled loudly. "All I want for Christmas is whatever smells so delicious in your kitchen."

"10-4, McNally. Let's get this show on the road." Standing up, he extended his hand in support and lifted her to her feet. "Follow me to the table of plenty."

She giggled, following in his wake, her legs pausing ever so briefly before the tree.

"Hey, Sam?" she called after him.

"Yeah?" he said, turning around and looking at her, an amused smirk on his face.

Her tone was light, but it was laced with a careful undercurrent of– something more. "This whole decorations thing? It wouldn't have been a dealbreaker for me. For _us_."

"_**Now **_you tell me," he deadpanned. A moment later, his smirk gave way to a true smile, and reaching for her hand, he tugged her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her. "I'm just kidding. I know."

"Hey, Andy?" he murmured in her ear, his tone emulating hers. "I'm just happy you like it."

Hands linked, the two walked into the kitchen.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you enjoyed this one (and I hope it wasn't too choppy for you!) Thank you, as always, for reading.<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks to all readers who took the time to review the previous chapter – You guys are great! I'm so grateful for your feedback.**

**The following scene takes place in mid-April. Less fluff, more angst.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue. Also, please excuse any medical oversights – The basis of my medical knowledge comes from **_**Scrubs**_**, a few rogue episodes of **_**ER**_**, and a brief Wikipedia search. (In short, nothing too concrete or foundational.)**

* * *

><p><strong>First disappointment.<strong>

The shrill ring of the phone interrupted her sleep, as Andy tossed and shifted in her sheets. Rolling to the side of the bed, she fumbled with the phone on her nightstand, squinting to combat the glare of the screen. _**Secure number**_. The bright digits of her alarm clock read 2:43 a.m.

_Who was calling at this hour?_

Rubbing her face tiredly, she yawned and hit the answer button. " 'ello?"

She straightened as a surge of adrenaline pulsed through her body.

"Yes, this is Andrea McNally."

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"No – ma'am. Please. I'm a police officer; I can read you my badge number. Just – is he –?"

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

* * *

><p>She and Sam had parted ways at the station earlier; she, to head home, and he, to drive to St. Catharines for the next two nights to help Will install new rain gutters.<p>

"Don't miss me too much," she said teasingly, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "And give Sarah and the girls a big hug from me."

"Will do."

"Be safe, ok? Text me when you get there. I mean, I'll probably be asleep by then, but I want to know you arrived."

"You're looking at a good driver, McNally. You've got nothing to worry about."

Tugging him closer, she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her briefly, before breaking away with a wink.

"I'm going to miss you."

"I'm pretty damn miss-able," she replied with a grin. "Now beat it, copper. Sarah expects you before midnight, and there is no telling what the roads will look like with the rain."

* * *

><p>She had dressed frantically, scrambling for her jeans as she dialed the number for a cab company at the same time.<p>

Scooping up her house keys, she hastily pushed her arms through the sleeves of a hooded sweatshirt and shoved her wallet in her pocket. She had the presence of mind to grab her phone charger, not knowing when she would return to her apartment. After a futile attempt to combat the tremor in her hands and braid her hair, she gave up and settled for a messy bun.

The cab ride itself was long and lonely, exacerbated by her fear at what she might find.

What had Sam said? _She was allergic to silence_. Nothing was truer in that moment, she decided, as she felt her body react to the quiet interior of the cab. Attempting to focus on the distractions – the low hum of the radio, the gradual acceleration and deceleration of the car – she was acutely aware of every physical reaction to her environment. She came by it honestly; that attention to detail had rewarded her in the field time and time again. Now it served only to remind her of how ill-prepared she was for this situation. With every passing mile, her anxiety grew. There was nothing like being trapped in a silent vehicle to prompt uneasy speculation.

Her bouncing leg, the slight shake to her hands, the nervous lip-chewing – She was aware of all her tells, and yet, perhaps it was better to let her body distract her. Left alone with her thoughts, she would have to combat worst-case scenarios and what-ifs.

Counting silently to herself, she focused on regaining control of her shaking hands.

* * *

><p>It was as if the hospital zeroed in on every weakness and preyed upon her solitude. <em>Could it sense she was walking in alone?<em>

Pushing the button for the first set of heavy steel doors, she entered and approached the desk.

Her senses were heightened, drawn into overdrive by the sounds, smells, and sights of the Trauma Centre.

The careful, regulated beeping of monitors in adjacent rooms.

The stagnant air, every whisper of freshness overridden by disinfectant and hours-old coffee.

Palpable tension in the eyes and limbs and pale, drained faces of family members.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Praying.

_Waiting._

Her stomach dropped as she fought a bout of nausea. She was never very good in hospitals.

Clearing her throat, she fumbled for her identification and spoke in a hesitant, halting tone. "Thomas McNally?"

* * *

><p>To her credit, Andy had remained calm and composed all morning.<p>

She readily accepted paperwork, filling out page after page in an effort to task her hands with something.

She paused briefly to toss the ineffective pen she was given in the garbage. Clenching her jaw, she reached into her pocket to extract her own pen and continued to complete the forms. Mundane, yes, but it kept her mind preoccupied.

She carefully listened to the doctors before asking questions in turn. She heard herself agree to wait "a few more hours" for a more informed report.

She called Frank to notify him that she wouldn't be coming into work, citing a "family emergency" but shying away from specifics.

She operated in crisis mode. She wasn't sure how, and days later, she still couldn't explain her reaction, so different than that of previous stints in the hospital.

She only knew her dad needed her, and crying wasn't going to do anyone any good. She had been strong for the two of them in the past, and this – this was the ultimate test.

She would be strong now, too.

* * *

><p>His phone had buzzed at 8 a.m. that morning, and Sam reached for it, hiding a tiny grin.<p>

He had risen early to see the girls off to school and had been waiting on Andy's message for the better part of an hour. Before his departure, Andy had agreed to text him after parade. "_No earlier_," she had insisted, "_It's your day off and you should sleep in_."

Chuckling at the memory, he shook his head in amusement. _As if appropriate sleeping patterns were something that caused her grave concern on a regular basis_. She didn't seem to mind waking him early when it was… mutually beneficial. Not that he was complaining - far from it.

Sliding his empty mug toward Sarah, Sam looked at her with a hopeful expression, inclining his head toward the coffee pot.

She shook her head silently, cocking a brow and folding her arms over her chest.

"C'mon, sis. Give me a chance to read this message?" he asked, injecting his tone with a quality he hoped was suitably earnest and convincing. "From the girl you love more than your own brother?"

Narrowing her eyes at him briefly, Sarah shrugged her shoulders in mock-nonchalance. "Well, I can't argue with that logic." Standing up, she bumped her hip against Sam's side and moved to refill both of their coffee mugs. "Tell her I say hi."

Reaching for the coffee pot, she watched from her periphery as her brother smirked and unlocked his phone open. "Thanks, Sare," he called after her. "You're the best."

"Yeah, you remember that, Sammy," she chuckled quietly to herself.

Turning his attention to the screen, Sam scanned the message and his brow furrowed. Rereading it, he clenched his jaw, his coffee now long-forgotten.

_Car accident last night. Dad is at St. Mike's, Trauma/Neurosurgery. Will call later with update, can't have my phone in the unit. Wanted to keep you posted. I'm fine. Love you, don't worry._

Abruptly hitting "3" on his speed dial, he willed Andy to answer her phone, only to hear the familiar click and her voicemail on the other end. "Shit," he cursed softly. "Shit, shit."

Pushing his chair back, he hopped up and jogged to the spare room, collecting his things as quickly as he could. Sarah followed him and stood in the doorway, watching him with a mixture of concern and bewilderment on her face.

"Sarah – I gotta go, I'm so sorry. Tell Will I'll come up next Saturday," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "It's Andy's dad. He's been hospitalized, and if I had to guess, she's waiting there by herself. She was scheduled on-shift today with the other rooks…"

"Go," she said briskly. "Rain gutters can wait. I'll make your goodbyes and excuses."

"Thanks. I'm sorry to run out like this."

She shook her head, brushing off his apology. "No, you should be with her. Drive safely, Sam."

He nodded imperceptibly, scrambling for his keys.

"_Safely_," Sarah repeated firmly, staring him down. "Respectable, _lawful_ speeds. Andy doesn't need both men in her life in the hospital."

"Thanks for the tip," he said wryly, hoisting his bag over his shoulder and jingling his keys.

"Here's another - Call me when you get there," she said, wrapping an arm around him.

"Will do." He squeezed her to his chest. "Thanks for everything."

* * *

><p>He tried to call her two more times on the ride from St. Catharines to St. Mike's, to no avail. He knew the last thing on her mind was her phone, but that didn't lessen his unease. <em>If he could just hear her voice and make sure she was okay…<em>

Never more grateful for the power of his badge, he received directions to the specific waiting area and scanned the perimeter for her.

He caught sight of her brown hair first, sloppily piled on top of her head. She was hunched in a chair, eyes closed and one hand to her forehead.

Slowly approaching her, he placed a gentle hand on her upper back and nudged her, murmuring, "Hey."

She didn't reciprocate the greeting – didn't look up, didn't say anything, in fact – but she stood and slid her arms around his waist, resting her head on his chest.

He felt her body shudder lightly as she exhaled, fisting her hands in his thermal. Wrapping his arms around her tightly, he brushed his lips against her temple and pulled her closer.

"Hey," he murmured in her ear. "You're not alone."

* * *

><p>She stared at the drab, grey tile of the hospital floor, focusing on the grain of the pattern. Scuffing the toe of her boot against the floor, she swallowed hard.<p>

"The doctors are saying cerebral contusion. He sustained severe blunt trauma to his head from the accident. The car he drives is so old, and the airbags didn't deploy properly. He hit the steering wheel pretty hard."

"Were any other cars involved?" Sam asked quietly.

"No." She blinked furiously, rubbing her hand over her jaw, the repetitive motion a welcome distraction. "Thank goodness. For that, we should be grateful."

"Was he…?"

"They're waiting for the results of the blood test, but that's what it looks like. He was pretty incoherent when the first responders tried to talk to him." She cleared her throat. "They put him in a medically induced coma."

"So it's a waiting game now," Sam said rhetorically, studying her.

"What am I going to say to him when…? I thought he was – I mean, I thought he was getting better."

He looked at her with soft, sympathetic eyes. "I can't tell you what to do, Andy. Whatever decision you make, I'll support you."

She nodded infinitesimally, fixing her eyes on the opposite end of the waiting room, looking without actually seeing. "That's just it. I don't know what to do."

* * *

><p>"Listen, you should go home," she said a few minutes later.<p>

He stared at her until she met his gaze, raising his eyebrows in mock-disbelief. "Not gonna happen, McNally."

"No, really," she insisted as he set his jaw. "Sam, I appreciate what you're trying to do..."

Sam shook his head slowly and emphatically. "_Andy_. Look at me. I'm not sitting here because it's the nice, neighborly thing to do." He spoke quietly but firmly. "I'm not doing it as a cop, or a colleague, or whatever."

She gnawed at her bottom lip, swiping her tongue across the chapped exterior thoughtlessly. "It doesn't do us any good to both be exhausted, right?" she said, attempting to smile. "Seriously, I'll be fine. I'll call you if I need anything."

"Andy," he repeated quietly, tilting her chin up with his index finger. "_I know_ you're strong. But you don't have to be strong for me, not now."

Her impassive mask slipped momentarily, and Sam noticed her hands fist, clenching onto the seat of her chair.

"I need to be strong for _**me**_, so I can face him. I can't break yet, Sam - I can't. I have to do this _**my**_ way."

"Okay," he said, nodding his head in agreement. "But I'm doing this with you. I'm not going home."

* * *

><p>The morning stretched on, and just before noon, a doctor emerged from the ward to update Andy on her father's prognosis.<p>

Wanting to respect her privacy, Sam excused himself to call Sarah. When he returned, Andy's voice was flat and lifeless.

"0.04. He was legal, but between the road conditions, poor visibility, and the alcohol… It must have done a number on him. Even two drinks could have…" she sighed deeply. "Well, you know."

He nodded in understanding, leading her to the seats in the waiting room. "Well, no one else was hurt and he wasn't over the legal limit. That's something."

"It doesn't matter; he can't have just one or two," she snapped, an edge to her voice that echoed in the waiting room. "And someone _could have_ been hurt, geez."

Reaching for her elbow, he guided her to a chair and sat down opposite her. "I know, Andy."

"This is a huge regression. It doesn't matter that he wasn't legally intoxicated; he was still drinking and he still crashed his car, Sam."

"I know, Andy," he repeated gently, resting a heavy palm on her knee.

"God, what was he thinking?" she said to herself, yanking at her ponytail angrily. "He's been doing so well, and I just thought…" She trailed off as her eyes widened and her hand came to cover her mouth.

"Oh, god," she whispered. "I can't believe… I didn't think…"

"Andy?" Sam prompted softly, calling her from her reverie.

"Fifteen years. Fifteen years yesterday. I wasn't thinking about it; I mean – I've thought about it, _sure_, but not in recent weeks, and I –" she stopped abruptly, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. "_Sam_. She left fifteen… fifteen…" Sucking in her breath, she closed her eyes in an effort to ward off the onslaught of pain. "How could I have been so _stupid_?"

"Andy," he began, trying to edge into her stream of consciousness. She waved him off with a hand, dismissing his attempt. Her voice resumed its fretful tone.

"I should have called him this week; I should have taken precautions and made sure steps were in place to deal with… all of this. This is partially my fault."

He held up a hand definitively, cutting her off. "Andy, this is not your fault in _any_ way."

Her eyes roved around the room frantically as the excuses bubbled forth. "But I know the warning signs, the stumbling blocks, the triggers..."

"Andy, you can't be monitoring him 24/7. And if he wants to get better – if he truly wants to recover – he needs a system of support that extends beyond just you. You cannot be his sole advocate. It's not fair to him, and it's not fair to you."

"He goes to those meetings, I thought…"

"We both did," he said quietly. Not wanting to push her too far, he hesitated. "Maybe… I mean, you need to talk to him, yes, but maybe we should reevaluate the options. Tommy needs to be a part of that conversation, but maybe…" he trailed off. "Maybe it's time to consider something beyond semi-monthly meetings."

He glanced at her apprehensively, unsure if she would be receptive to his comments in her present state.

She nodded once, avoiding his eyes, but a moment later she threaded her fingers through his and gripped tightly.

* * *

><p>He had texted Nash to see if she could stop by the hospital on her lunch break. Traci was out chasing a lead, but she forwarded the text to Chris who came by with a cup of soup and a big hug for Andy. After a grateful nod to Diaz, Sam left Andy's side to visit her apartment. He returned forty minutes later with her duffel slung around his shoulder and two cups of hot coffee in hand.<p>

Setting the cups down on the table, Sam tossed the bag onto an empty chair and turned to his fellow officer.

"Thanks, Diaz. I owe you one."

"Not at all, sir," Chris said, stepping outside of the waiting room with a sad smile on his face. "I'm happy to be here. She's my friend, too."

Sam nodded, clapping a hand to his shoulder. "Thanks all the same."

"Let me know if anything changes?"

"Yeah. Thank Nash, too, alright?"

"Yes, sir."

Operating on autopilot, Andy reached for a cup, but Sam shook his head as he returned to the enclosed waiting area. Rummaging through her bag, he extracted a small bottle. "No coffee yet. I want you to take two of these first," he said, popping the lid of an aspirin bottle and handing it to her. "And then drink this, because you're dehydrated." She slowly accepted the bottle of water from his outstretched hand and obediently took a sip.

"In here," he said, gesturing to the bag, "There is a fresh change of clothes, your toothbrush, deodorant, and face wash. I know I can't convince you to leave yet and take a shower, but you'll feel better if you brush your teeth and wash your face, I promise."

"Sam," she began hesitantly.

"McNally." His hard, T.O. voice left no room for discussion. Softening his gaze, he pointed in the direction of the rest room. "Go on. I'll be out here if any staffers comes by."

* * *

><p>A nurse came to find Andy in the mid-afternoon.<p>

"I'm sorry we've been so strict with visitation. It was important for the doctors to have room to work," he said kindly. "Your father is recovering nicely for someone with that type of injury. We'll probably be able to move him to a regular room for recovery in another day or so. For now, we need to continue to monitor his brain activity and assess the damage. He's been very, very lucky so far."

"Thank you," Andy said, squashing the quaver in her voice.

"I know you've been in and out of the unit, but you can go sit with him for a few moments if you'd like. He's awake now."

Inhaling sharply, she forced a smile onto her face. "Thanks."

The nurse nodded, turning on his heel. "Whenever you're ready, but try to keep it under ten minutes, okay? And no more than two of you at a time," he said, his tone benign but firm.

Sam nodded affirmatively. "Thanks."

Closing her eyes, Andy prepared herself for an emotionally jarring scene. They hadn't said how he had looked, only that he was doing better. But it wouldn't do to dwell, right? Not when her dad was just around the corner.

Dismissing the painful images that sprung to mind, she squared her shoulders and stood up.

"I'll just wait for you out here," Sam said, wanting to give her preferred or desired space.

"No… No, I want you in there with me. You don't have to say anything, but I want you there." She hesitated, reaching for his hand. "As long as you're okay with that."

"As long as you're okay with that," he returned softly, raising an eyebrow and entwining their fingers.

* * *

><p>Wires, tubes, and sallow, drawn skin: The picture with which she was greeted.<p>

Swallowing hard, her eyes took in the cuts and bruises on his face and arms, and the abundant amount of gauze that swaddled his head.

"Dad…" she began quietly. Brokenly. She carefully stepped through the doorway and over to a chair, dragging Sam with her. Placing her free hand on top of the plastic backing, she gripped the chair tightly, willing herself to stand tall.

She didn't quite trust herself to remain standing, and she wasn't going to take any chances.

Tommy McNally's attempt to smile was complicated by the lacerations on his face, giving him an eerie, unsettled look – a far cry from reassurance.

"I'm not as bad as I look, kiddo," he insisted, his voice raspy and rough.

"You've looked better," she replied, biting her lip. She felt Sam's hand gently squeeze hers, and she reciprocated with a vice-like grip. "I'm glad they were able to –" she gestured to the bandaging on his head, "Well – you know."

He was quiet for a moment before he took notice of the figure behind his daughter and raised his eyes to meet Sam's. "Sam."

"Tommy," Sam acknowledged with a nod. "I'm sorry to see you like this."

He raised his fingers on his left hand infinitesimally, brushing the cotton sheets. "You and me both, son," he responded, a distant look in his eye.

Turning slightly toward his daughter, he grasped for words. "Andy, look –" he began cautiously.

She shook her head, silencing him. "Listen, dad, you have to focus on getting better. Whatever else there is… We'll deal with that later, ok?"

He stared at her for a long moment before nodding.

"I should probably, uh, rest for a little while. We'll talk later, eh, kid?"

"Sure," she said softly. Stepping forward, she placed a warm hand on his wrist. "Get some sleep. You need your strength."

"Thanks for stopping by," he said faintly. "You too, Sam."

Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes and shifted gingerly in the hospital bed. Observing him for a long moment, Andy exhaled and turned toward the door, nudging Sam.

Her steps halted as her dad's weak voice carried across the room.

"An-Andy," he stuttered, his voice wavering. She swiveled to find him staring out the window, eyes open and haunted. "I'm sorry I let you down. I'm sorry I let myself down."

She nodded once before answering. "You're alive, Dad. We'll work through the rest later."

"Ok," he responded, his voice thick.

"I love you, Dad."

Gently slipping through the half-cracked door, Andy discarded her plastic robe and gloves in the trash bin. Walking briskly to the unit's double doors, she pressed a button and went immediately to the antibacterial station, scrubbing her hands harshly.

Sam caught up with her, grabbing a wrist before she could rub the skin raw. "Hey there, Mr. Clean. I think you're good on the germ-free front."

For the first time that day, Andy visibly crumpled. Her face tightened as she worried her lip and a tear escaped from the corner of her eye.

"I'm gonna take you home for a little bit." Sam spoke calmly, not releasing his grip on her wrist as he led her to the elevators. "Sleep for a few hours, get some real food in you? There's really nothing more we can do here, not for the time being. We can come back tonight if you want."

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"Okay then."

* * *

><p>She had curled up on his couch like a cat, long limbs tucked under her as she rested her head on a throw pillow and cocooned herself in a blanket.<p>

Setting to work in the kitchen, he boiled a pot of water and dumped a box of macaroni spirals inside. Months ago, Andy had told him what a comfort mac and cheese was when she was unhappy, even joked how she liked a hot dog cut up in it, like a little kid. It reminded her of an untainted part of her childhood.

As far as he was concerned, if she wanted mac and cheese, she was getting it. If she wanted the moon, he'd figure out a way to get that, too.

Moving to sit next to her on the couch, he pushed the bowl of macaroni in her direction.

"Why didn't you call me as soon as you heard?" he began quietly.

She laughed humorlessly. "We McNallys are notoriously tight-lipped about our problems. If we ignore them, maybe they'll go away."

"Andy," he admonished, a warning in his tone.

She sighed, reaching for the bowl and spoon. "I didn't want you to worry. And it was the middle of the night; I didn't want you on the roads. _I'm fine_," she said emphatically through a bite of cheesy noodles. "I _**was**_ fine. I didn't want to disrupt your – you know, schedule."

He studied her for a moment, nodding his head. "Ok. I appreciate this…concern…for my well-being, but don't you think I'm capable of making that decision? You know, deciding if it's _too much_ or not?

She sniffled audibly. "You would have come right away because you're a stubborn ass."

"You're right," he said simply, as if it were an open and shut case. "I would have."

"But you shouldn't have to!" she protested.

He cleared his throat, rubbing his hand over his jaw wearily. "Andy. Just because we're not partnered everyday doesn't mean we're not…" He broke off, running a hand through his hair. "Look, we share the load. On and off the clock, you know?"

"Sam, I know, but this…" she trailed off helplessly. "This is _**not**_ your problem to deal with."

"Because I wasn't born into the McNally family, it's not my problem? Andy, what affects you affects me. And this –" he gesticulated wildly, picking up the copy of Tommy's insurance from the coffee table. "This is a burden you shouldn't have to shoulder singlehandedly. By all accounts, this – _right here_ – this shouldn't be your problem, Andy."

"Well it's not like anyone else is rushing to his side. I'm all he has, Sam."

"I know." He took a deep breath, gazing at her steadily. "I know, Andy. I understand you're trying to be a good daughter, trying to hold it together, but Andy…" he paused. "You don't have to _try_ with me."

"I don't know how to do it any other way, Sam," she said, taking a ragged breath. "_**I don't know**_ any other way to deal with it."

"Andy," he said softly, reaching for your hand. "You have my back; I have yours. We're always more successful when we tackle things together instead of going at it alone, right? Anton and Emily ring a bell?"

"Yeah, ok," she scoffed. "One, this is a completely different situation; two, you've saved my butt _way_ more times."

"I don't know," he mused, his tone careful and measured. "Brennan was kind of a big debt to work off. Without you, I would have been toast."

Reaching for her now-empty bowl, he set it on the coffee table and pulled her into his arms. "We make a good team, you and me."

Burying her face in his shoulder, she hugged him tightly.

"You take the good with the bad in life, Andy. And if you're lucky enough to find someone you love and who loves you back, you face those things together. This thing with your dad? It isn't something you have to shoulder alone."

She was silent for a beat, releasing another breath that shook her whole body. "What did I do to deserve you?" she mumbled into his chest.

"I ask myself the same question," he teased. Lowering his voice, he touched his lips to her ear. "I'm here for you, McNally, in whatever way you need. And you should know I don't scare easy."

* * *

><p>"Can we just lay here?" she said an hour later, her warm body pressed against his bare chest. "I wouldn't mind. We could do this, like, forever."<p>

They had moved from the couch to Sam's bed, where Andy had proceeded to wrestle his shirt off and remove her own. They lay there, chest to chest, silent as Andy regulated her breathing to the thrum of Sam's heartbeat.

He swept his hand across her bare back, rubbing soothing strokes down her spine as she burrowed into the crook of his arm.

"You're gonna want to see your dad again tonight."

"You're right," she conceded, nodding her head. "I am."

"Hey," he whispered in her ear. "I know it's hard right now, but it won't always be like this."

He could hear her heart rate increase, skittish against his chest, and he paused before speaking again.

"You did the right thing today. You stayed calm and you were firm. And you're right; the focus has to be his physical recovery, then his emotional recovery. One step at a time."

"I was so scared," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I thought I was going to lose him; I really did."

Sam was silent, knowing that she needed to talk it out.

"I know he has to be the one to commit, he has to want to change. I can't force him, _I know that_, but sometimes I just wanna shake him, you know? Tell him that he's hurting other people, not just himself."

Rolling to the side, Andy wiped at her eyes with her fist. "I just – I don't understand. How can he not see how much it _hurts_ me? And I don't wanna be selfish –"

"Sweetheart, you're not being selfish," he interjected, brushing her bangs off her forehead.

"– I just... He's my dad, you know? What happened to parents setting the example?"

Sam sighed, smoothing his hand over her hip. "He's not in good shape now. But he's lucky to have a daughter like you, Andy. And you're right – The desire to change has to come from him." His eyes burned into hers as he tugged her back toward his chest. "But you're a pretty damn good reason for a man to want to change."

"I'm not gonna give up on him, I can't, but I just wish… _It sucks _when all this progress seems wasted." Coughing, she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm. "Geez, for someone who boasts she's not much of a crier, I've sure given you every reason to believe that all I do is cry."

His lips twitched in a reluctant smile. "You forget how long I've known you, Andy. And I'm not going to let you apologize for having a compassionate heart," he replied, gazing at her seriously.

"Although I gotta say, this is a first," he said, his tone shifting in a casual effort to lighten the mood. "I've never made a woman cry in bed before. You know, I'm usually a pretty confident guy, but this could do some serious damage to my ego, McNally."

She gave a muffled sob, half-laugh, half cry, burying her face into his chest.

He pressed his chin into her shoulder blade and held her tightly. "Hey. We're gonna be okay."

"Thank you," she murmured. "I just - Thank you, Sam."

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews and suggestions are lovely and welcome. Thank you, as always, for reading.<strong>


	14. Chapter 14

**Sincere thanks to the reviewers of the previous chapter. Your words were particularly helpful and encouraging with the production of this chapter, and I apologize that its release has been so delayed. (As a peace offering, this chapter is a little longer than usual.) I will be resuming my regular weekly posting schedule now.**

**Readers, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and once again, thanks to all individuals who reviewed and PM'd. Your help was immeasurable this time around, and if I didn't get to message you personally, please know that your feedback was **much** appreciated.**

**Onward and upward! It's May in this universe.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue. **

* * *

><p><strong>First anniversary.<strong>

"Thanks for coming with me today, Hannah."

Glancing up from the stack of books she was rifling through, Hannah smiled at her uncle's girlfriend and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Thanks for inviting me."

Andy gestured to the stalls of used books and fresh flowers, the photograph exhibits, vegetable carts, crepe vendors, and bubble tea stands that crowded the street. "I'm hard-pressed to get your uncle to come to these sorts of things."

Hannah grinned shyly, adjusting the short stack of books on her hip. "Isn't this the kind of stuff boyfriends are supposed to do?"

"You tell your uncle that," Andy laughed. "He's usually good about boyfriend-y things, but there are some points he refuses to budge on. He doesn't find swap meets or farmer's markets or street fairs nearly as interesting as I do." Sifting through a pile of homemade bookmarks, Andy directed Hannah's attention to an Oscar Wilde marker. "Usually I come here on Saturday mornings with my friend Traci."

"I don't know; I think it's cool," Hannah admitted. "There's so much stuff to look at. Uncle Sam is missing out."

Andy nodded her head in agreement. "They have the world's best breakfast nook around the corner, too. Crepes after this? Sweet and savory – your choice – and they're all delicious. What do you say?"

"I'm already picturing my order, and it looks like nutella and strawberries are going to make an appearance," Hannah confessed with a laugh.

Andy nodded in approval. "Oh! And on the way, there's a really cool jewelry stand. The woman who runs it makes all sorts of earrings and headbands, if you think you want to take a look."

"Andy?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad Mom and Dad decided to take a few days for their anniversary. It's nice getting to spend some time with you and Uncle Sam."

Andy smiled at the eleven year old. "We've loved having you girls in Toronto."

Hannah beamed, slinging her purse around her body. "Yeah, the city is great. Maybe… I don't know. Maybe I'll consider it for university, you know?"

"You're forward-thinking; I like that," Andy replied with a grin.

"Yeah, Uncle Sam did mention you like to plan things," Hannah called over her shoulder as she skipped to the till. "I'm gonna get a few of these books, and then I'll be ready to keep moving."

* * *

><p>Canvassing the stalls for the next half-hour, Andy stopped before a hand-blown glass vendor and reached for a vase. "What do you think of this?" she asked Hannah, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. Turning the warped glass over in her hands, she appraised it before passing it to Hannah. "I think it would look great on that new bookshelf, yeah?"<p>

Studying the contours carefully, Hannah nodded once. "I like it," she said decisively before handing it back.

Fishing a few bills out of her jean pocket, Andy motioned to the vendor. As she cradled the vase to her chest, she paused when another figure caught her eye. Gesturing to the tiny glass object at the edge of the table, she quietly addressed the vendor. "And that, too, if you wouldn't mind. Could you wrap it up, please? Thanks."

"A whale? Really?" Hannah asked, the question written in her eyes. "Secret obsession with Ahab?"

"Something like that," Andy laughed, shadowing her eyes from the bright sun with her hand. "There's a story to it, and I'll tell you over breakfast. How 'bout it? My stomach is starting to talk back."

* * *

><p>"Chase me, Uncle Sam!" Abby demanded, her enthusiasm reaching record levels. Pushing her small body forward, she weaved in and out of the jungle gym, barely eluding her uncle's grasp.<p>

After another ten minutes of cat and mouse, Sam collapsed on the soft, rubber mulch of the neighborhood park, and a second later, Abby tumbled forward, throwing herself on top of his stomach. Linking her tiny arms around his torso, she buried her face into his sleeve. "I'm tired, Uncle Sam."

"You've been giving me the run-around for the better part of an hour, kiddo. And anyway, we're getting close to naptime."

Abby pouted. "But I don't want to nap… I miss all the fun when I go to sleep." Tilting her chin up, she met Sam's gaze. "It's twue, and you know it."

Tugging her ponytail gently, Sam replied, "Well, if we get ready for naptime right now, Andy and Hannah will be back by the time you wake up, and we can all do something later tonight. Deal?"

After a minute of careful consideration, Abby nodded begrudgingly. "Deal." Yanking on Sam's sleeve, she adopted a wheedling tone. "But can we just sit here for a few minutes before we walk home?"

"Sure thing."

Rolling off her uncle's stomach, Abby lay next to him on the ground and looked up at the clouds inching across the sky. All was quiet in the park, as both uncle and niece were content to take in their still, peaceful surroundings.

"Hey, Uncle Sam?" Abby asked, breaking the silence. "What's a 'versary?"

"An _**anni**_versary?" Sam clarified, turning to look at his niece.

"Yeah, that. Mommy explained it, but I already forgot."

Sam narrowed his eyes, attempting to simplify the concept in clear, easy terms. "Well, uh. It's a special day you celebrate that, uh… Well, you remember a special day with a special person. Like your mom and dad remember the day they got married, and they celebrate that."

"Oh," she replied, then, "Do you have a 'versary, too?"

He shook his head. "I'm not married yet, sweetie."

"But you said you just needed a special person. Isn't Andy a special person? Couldn't you have a special day with her?"

"Well…" Sam trailed off, searching for words. "Yeah, Abs, I guess I could."

Switching tactics, Abby scooted forward and sat cross legged by her uncle's shoulder, poking him gently in the cheek. "Are you gonna marry Andy, Uncle Sam?"

Caught off guard, Sam eyes fixed on Abby, and he swallowed hard. The answer lingered, unspoken but heavy in the damp air.

"Mommy and Daddy are married, and that's why they're celebrating their… their… 'versary, this weekend. That's why we get to stay with you," she reasoned, sliding her small foot into his lap. "I like 'versaries. I hope you get one, Uncle Sam."

He smiled, fixing a shoelace that had come undone on Abby's sneaker. "Yeah, I hope so too."

"Andy's nice. And she thinks up cool games to play," Abby said seriously, twirling her ponytail around her finger. "And she has really pwetty hair."

"She does," Sam acknowledged in an equally serious voice.

"Do you love her? Like daddy loves mommy?"

Not waiting for an answer, Abby stretched her tiny hand toward his, lacing their fingers together and sighing quietly. "I bet she'd look really pwetty in a white dress."

"Yeah," Sam murmured, his mind clouded with startlingly vivid images of flowers and an aisle and a girl in a white dress. "I bet she would."

"But you'd still come and play with us, w'ight?" Abby prompted. "Me and Hannah?"

"Always, kiddo."

"Good. You should, then. Get a 'versary, I mean."

* * *

><p>His mind still gripped by the dialogue of the afternoon, Sam stood next to the kitchen sink hours later, mulling over Abby's straightforward and frank insight. His young niece, now asleep in the guest bedroom with her sister, had long since dismissed the conversation.<p>

For his part, Sam was reticent to do so.

"Do you think we should set an anniversary date?" Andy asked suddenly, interrupting his reverie.

She appeared preoccupied, stirring creamer into the steaming cup of coffee that sat on the table before her. Propping her hand under her chin, she tilted her hand and looked at Sam appraisingly. "What do you think?"

Sam glanced at her from across the kitchen, furrowing his brow. "What?"

"An anniversary. Should we set a date?"

His lips twitched suspiciously as his eyes returned to the stack of dirty plates beside the sink. Opening the dishwasher, he loaded the plates, one by one. "Where did this come from?"

"I don't know," she wondered. Reaching for a nearby dishrag, she began to wipe the surface of the table around her mug. "I just feel like it's one of those things we should pinpoint, right?"

"That seems to be a theme today," he muttered to himself, before adding, "Yeah, if you say so."

"_Saaam_," she drawled. "C'mon, you know what I mean."

"Sorry," he grinned, gesturing to his full hands. "This macaroni is putting up a fight even steel wool couldn't beat. I'm distracted."

"Nice try." She smiled beseechingly at him. "I wanna talk about this anniversary business."

Dumping the saucepan in the sink to soak, he gave Andy his full attention. "I'm kidding. What exactly do you want to talk about?"

"Well, I was talking to Hannah…"

"Talking, or _covertly planning_?" Sam asked, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. "I know the way that girl's mind works."

Tossing her hair behind her shoulder, Andy reached for her coffee mug again. "All I'm saying is that it sparked a train of thought. I mean, we're a far cry from the norm when it comes to relationship milestones. First time we kissed isn't exactly a fond memory, and first time we – you know –"

"No, I'm not quite sure what you mean, Andy," he said seriously, his voice betrayed by the twinkle in his eye.

She rolled her eyes, setting her cup down and folding her arms across her chest.

He managed to look supremely unconcerned, settling in a chair opposite her. "You'll have to break it down for me," he added casually, taking a sip of his water and flicking his eyes toward her.

Sighing, Andy pointed toward the ceiling, a gesture that clearly read, _There are children upstairs, Sam_. She lowered her voice instinctively. "Well, it's not like we even went out on a date first, geez! I'm not sure I'm comfortable with celebrating our reunion at the sleazy Alpine Inn and then alluding to what happened afterward."

"Pool, beer, and decent conversation," he mused. Shrugging his shoulders, he stole the dishrag from her loose grasp and flicked it at her. "I mean, it could be first date worthy, minus the criminal association thing."

Anticipating her glare, he grinned slyly. "If you ask me, it was a nice build-up to the magic. I mean, some couples like to try on different personas for size. J.D. and Candace? That could be a thing for us."

Setting her coffee down on the table, Andy arched an eyebrow at Sam and spoke carefully. "I'm actually disappointed you had to resort to roleplay innuendo. You can do better than that."

"Hmm, you're right," he teased. "I _**can**_ do better than that."

"Besides," she said firmly, silencing him with a look. "I'm not telling Traci that we're commemorating the night when we risked our lives and professional careers."

"Well, it's not like we have to advertise it," Sam said sensibly. "And if you want to get _technical_, the second night was actually the night of greater risk."

She frowned, wrinkling her nose.

"What, I can't joke about it?" Leaning forward, he reached under the table and trailed his palm up her thigh. "Is this because the first time wasn't good enough for you, McNally?"

Swatting his hand away, she attempted to mask her growing smile with a large swallow of coffee. "I think I've made it abundantly clear how _good _it was. C'mon, Sam, your nieces are asleep. _Upstairs_," she reminded him, a warning implicit in her tone.

He leaned back, a cheshire grin on his face. "I'm kidding. I actually think an anniversary is a good idea."

"Really?" she replied, the surprise evident in her voice.

"Tell you what. You pick the day and you just let me know, ok?"

"And you're fine with that?" At Sam's nodded assent, she shook her head, amused. "We never do things the right way, do we?"

"No, I don't think we do." He stretched lazily, kicking her ankle lightly. "But that works for us."

"Yeah, somehow it does," she replied with a wry smile.

Standing to drop her now-empty mug into the dishwasher, Andy spun on her heel. "But this one is on me, okay? It was my idea."

"You sure?" Sam asked, thinking about the four year old who had stirred the pot earlier that afternoon.

Andy nodded, mulling over the swarm of ideas that had entered her brain. "All you have to do is show up and look pretty, Swarek."

* * *

><p>The weekend concluded with Will and Sarah collecting the girls, and Andy and Sam grabbing a few hours of sleep apiece before reporting for the night shift. Paired with Oliver for the evening, Sam drove aimlessly around the streets of Toronto, while Shaw proceeded to pump information from Sam and then comment vociferously on each minute detail.<p>

Praying for some kind of radio disturbance or interruption, if only to transfer his focus to a separate job at hand, Sam valiantly attempted to tune Ollie out.

"What is this, amateur hour?" Oliver grumbled. "First that new rookie screws up TWO shifts worth of paperwork, and now you're seriously trying to tell me that McNally is selecting a date for your anniversary. And you're just going to _show up_."

"Hey, I'm just listening to what she said. According to you, relationship savant – and I quote – _A man listens to his lady_."

"You're a bigger idiot than I thought," Oliver said, shaking his head. "Sammy, there are three exceptions to that rule: **One.** When she tells you that her dresses don't fit like they used to. That is a cheap ploy designed to trap you. If you don't want to be riding Señor Sofa all week, you compliment her figure and then subtly change the subject. **Two.** When she gives you permission to skip your daughter's recital in lieu of – I don't know – Poker Night. She doesn't actually mean it, _trust me_. Even if the program for the recital has been the same four years running. **Three.** And possibly the most important, so listen up... When she tells you not to make a big deal out of her birthday or your anniversary. Lies, Sammy, all of 'em. I'm not saying there have to be roses and champagne at the Fairmont, but brother, you gotta make an effort."

Sam shrugged, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. "I really don't think McNally thinks like that. She's genuinely excited about picking a date and planning the night herself."

"It's a test," Oliver said resolutely. He fiddled with his duty belt before muttering, "Do I have to be a training officer for every g.d. noob in this division?"

Studiously ignoring Sam's expression, Oliver sighed loudly. "_Don't_. Just…don't. Zoe's making me curb the swearing… Liv apparently called a boy in her class a jackass. I don't need input from those things you call eyebrows."

"Yeah, ok."

"I get cranky when I'm hungry," Oliver explained, as if imparting another kernel of sage wisdom. "Let's go get some tandoori."

* * *

><p>Andy greeted Sam with a bright smile when he returned to the barn, her eyes sweeping over him excitedly.<p>

"The day I tackled you," Andy said triumphantly, hopping onto the edge of his desk. "First day as a rookie, first day we met. Good, right?" She looked at him expectantly, waiting for a nod of approval.

Sam looked up from his computer, squeezing her knee before moving to the printer. "Yeah, great day, minute details aside. You know. Getting arrested, getting burned," he teased.

"Hey. It's not my fault I'm a better runner than you," she said, shrugging.

"_**Were**_ a better runner than me," he corrected. "Thankfully, that's no longer the case."

She arched an eyebrow, swiveling her head toward him. "Keep dreaming, Sam."

He snorted in vague disbelief. Retrieving the printout, he dropped it in a folder before pursing his lips and leaning heavily against the desk's frame. He held Andy's gaze in silent challenge, unblinking and unaffected.

She returned his look with equal stubborness, refusing to surrender.

Diplomacy won out.

"Conversation for another day?" Sam finally prompted, stifling a yawn. "I'm gonna go get changed. Meet you at the truck in ten?"

"Sure," Andy agreed. A look of satisfaction played across her features, her confidence not waning. "In fact… I'll _race_ you. And then we're talking about this date some more. Because I think it's a great idea."

* * *

><p>"So this anniversary," he mused an hour later, as Andy strolled into the living room, barefoot and toweling her wet hair. Sliding behind her carefully, Sam roped an arm across her collarbone and pulled her into his chest. "Your first day on the job, right?"<p>

"Oh, gross, Sam!" she protested, wiggling away from him "I just showered, and you smell like boy. And not the good, clean kind. The _just-sat-in-a-musty-cruiser-and-ate-Indian-for-lunch_ kind." Moving toward the open doorway, she called over her shoulder, "Go away."

Grinning broadly, Sam caught the end of her towel, wrestling it from her grasp. Tossing the towel toward the laundry basket, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and reached for her. "C'mon, McNally," he said, his voice intentionally low and rough. "Take one for the team."

"Never," she laughed, swiping at Sam's wandering hands. After a fruitless attempt to free herself, she let her body go limp and leaned heavily against him. When his grip loosened, she seized her opportunity to escape, wriggling from his grasp and scampering to the kitchen.

"So this anniversary…" he repeated, following her with a wounded expression. "Do we get to recreate the day you tackled me?"

She rolled her eyes, rummaging through the cabinets for a glass.

"You know, the day you tried to kiss me," he clarified, his eyes suddenly full of mirth. "Just in case you need a little prompting."

She narrowed her eyes, before a smirk crossed her face. "I had a feeling we were headed here."

"You _did_ want to kiss me, right? You had that angry little frown line between your eyes. The same one you get when you're fired up and –"

"Hah," she huffed. "You wish." She playfully bumped his hip as she walked to the sink and turned the tap on. Filling her glass, she took a long sip of water and leaned against the counter, studying him. A brief smile lit up her face. "Although to be fair, under different circumstances, I would have considered it."

"Oh yeah?" he prompted, stepping forward and hooking his fingers around the elastic of her sweatpants. With a swift tug of his wrist, they were standing chest to chest. "What kind of circumstances are we talking?"

"Uh-uh," Andy said firmly, shaking her head. "You take a shower, and then we'll talk. I know the only reason you skipped your shower was to beat me to the truck."

Sam cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you going to try to tell me you skipped yours for a different reason?"

"Whatever," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "Go get clean."

"This conversation isn't over," he insisted.

"Any chance you have of getting close to me tonight **will be**, however, if you're not in that shower in two seconds." Biting back a grin, she called after him, "Honestly, it's like talking to a kid sometimes."

* * *

><p>One shower and shampoo later, Sam wandered into the living room in plaid, flannel pajama pants.<p>

"Real subtle, Swarek," Andy said, glancing up from her magazine. Reaching for the stack of undershirts she had just folded, she tossed one his way.

He smirked, before leaning over the back of the couch and resting his arms on her shoulders. "So," he began. "Tell me. Under what circumstances would you have considered kissing me?"

Tilting her head back solemnly, she cleared her throat. "If you weren't a junkie running from the law, for starters." She wrinkled her nose, running a hand through his dark hair, still damp from the shower. "And if you didn't have that goop in your hair."

"Is that right?"

"Yup," she said casually, a grin tugging at her lips. "You were _**wearing**_ those jeans." Twisting her body, she reached behind the couch and slid her palms over Sam's hips, pulling him closer. "Like, _nicely_."

"That pat-down did seem a little friendly," he teased.

She swiped at her bottom lip with her tongue, eyes alight with mischief. "It was also the first time you proposed we be 'friends forever,' disingenuous as you were."

"Yeah, well, 'friends' never really worked for us," he explained, shrugging his shoulders.

"And the first time I saw you naked. Well, nearly naked," she amended, sliding her palms up his bare chest and over his shoulders.

He nodded thoughtfully. "And you were eyeing me like a slab of meat."

"Hey! That is _so_ not true!" she cried, her voice rising as she pulled back to gape at him. "I wanted to finish the job, find the gunman. If anything, _you_ were trying to get a rise out of _me_."

"Hey, it's okay that you looked," he soothed before his grin appeared. "Did you at least like what you saw?"

She pushed away from his chest, resettling herself on the couch. "I refuse to pander to your ego. You're impossible; did anyone ever tell you that?"

"I think you may have, once or twice," he deadpanned, circling the couch to take a seat next to her. Tangling his fingers in her wet hair, he lazily massaged her scalp.

"I won't be bought off with your ministrations," she insisted, despite leaning into his touch and closing her eyes. A moment later, he heard the low, happy hum in her throat. Smiling to himself, he continued to brush his fingers through her hair.

"I'm on board with the anniversary," he clarified. "Although I have a few criteria to add. I think you missed a couple 'firsts' in the alleged timeframe."

She opened her eyes, a tiny smile gracing her lips. "I like it when you play along."

Raising his index finger, he signaled the number one. "First time I developed an appreciation for the v-neck t-shirt."

Tracing a hand down her arm, he grasped her wrist and tugged her closer. "I've always been a crew-neck guy myself," he admitted, settling her on his lap. "But when you wandered over to my bar stool, you were _**wearing**_ that v-neck. Like, _nicely_," he mocked, running his hands up and down her back.

"Shut up," she retorted, pushing his shoulder playfully. "You had this angry intensity radiating from you. There's no way you noticed my shirt; you were too busy making me feel bad."

Lips twitching in amusement, he traced her collarbone before skimming his fingers across her chest. "I was pissed, McNally, not blind."

She shifted on his lap, whining quietly. "_Saaam_."

"Hmm, what else?" he mumbled against her cheek, nipping her jaw lightly. "First time I checked you out. When you wandered back to the rookie table. It was your laugh that got my attention."

"Yeah?" she said, fighting to maintain her breath.

"Yup," he replied.

"You know," he said conversationally, pulling his lips away from her neck. "The locker room incident was the first time a rook blatantly talked back to me. Usually I can scare them off with a scowl or two."

"You?" Andy said, feigning disbelief. "No, I don't believe it."

"Little did I know that locker room encounter would foreshadow years of incessant chatter and backtalk."

"Careful," Andy warned, an amused smile on her lips.

"Then again," Sam conceded, brushing her bangs behind her ear, "I think I'd probably miss the chatter if I didn't hear it every day for the rest of my life." His mind flashed to his conversation with Abby, and he grinned.

Her eyes widened infinitesimally before she recovered, fussing with her hair elastic in a show of forced nonchalance. "Only _probably_?"

He shrugged, tipping her off his lap and onto the adjacent couch cushion. "Well, silence is golden, or so I hear."

Nudging him in the ribs with her foot, she collapsed heavily onto the couch. "So this date is sneaking up on us. Six days."

"Six days," he echoed. "Glad we figured out the timeline now, and not, say – two weeks from now."

Reaching for his book on the end table, Sam heard the echo of Oliver's voice in his ears…

_Better have a plan in motion, brother._

* * *

><p>Turned out, Sam did.<p>

The morning of their "anniversary" arrived, and when she rolled into the barn, Andy found a bouquet of fresh orchids on her desk and a box of band-aids with a note attached.

_**Don't scrape up your hands tackling any rogue coppers, got it?**_

_**Love, Sam**_

Laughing, she sent Dov into the locker room with explicit directions to slip an envelope into Sam's locker.

When Sam discovered it twenty minutes later, he shook his head in amusement.

_**Six o'clock outside the Barn. I'm driving. As stated previously, jeans are acceptable. **_

_**Love, Andy**_

_**P.S. Leave the gel at home. **_

_**P.P.S. No one likes greasy hair.**_

* * *

><p>"Give me five minutes, and keep your eyes closed," she instructed at 6:25 p.m., giving Sam a chaste peck on the lips. Hopping out of the cab, she slammed the door, but not before yelling, "And no peeking!"<p>

He complied, resting his head against the window pane and briefly shutting his eyes.

Eight minutes later, he felt the vibrations of her knuckles rapping on the passenger side door. A moment later, she popped the lock and tugged on his hand. "All set? Good."

Urging him to keep his eyes closed, she threaded her arms around his waist and pushed him toward the back of the truck. "Yup… Keep going… Forward, yes. I won't let you hit anything, I promise."

He felt the bottom of her dress brush his knees as she loosened her grip and stepped past him. "Okay, so this was supposed to happen on the ground, but I did not anticipate a rainstorm last night that would leave muddy puddles everywhere, and as such, your truck bed will have to suffice. And… _Open_."

Sam opened his eyes to find a picnic setting in the back of his truck. The bed itself was lined with a vinyl tablecloth, a red gingham pattern that was a throwback, Sam supposed, to some classic picnic display. A few Tupperware containers were scattered about, and a large cooler rested against the far end of the truck. Hopping delicately into the bed of the truck, Andy swung her legs underneath her and reached for Sam's hand. "You coming?"

"I think if there is one thing our history has indicated, I go where you go, Andy."

She threw back her head and laughed openly. "Yeah, I guess. Well, the point of this little shindig," she said, waving her arms around her in a circle, "No fancy gifts. No fancy clothes. No fancy restaurant. It's more our speed, don't you think?"

"Yeah," he agreed, the word slipping from his lips. Sweeping his gaze over the picnic setting, he unlocked his jaw and nodded. "Just give me a sec." Popping open the window between the bed and cab, he leaned in and thrust his keys into the truck's engine. A second later, a smooth, jazzy sound drifted out of the speakers.

Andy beamed. "Smooth, Swarek." Closing her eyes, she leaned against the cool metal of the truck. "Is this what you do for all the ladies?"

He settled back into a seated position. "Just the ones that plan picnics," he replied easily.

She opened her eyes, grinning at him. "You should know, the menu reads burgers, beer, and my boyfriend, in that order."

"I think I can get behind that."

"Be forewarned: I made the burgers on my Foreman a half-hour ago. They may not be the warmest or best-tasting, but they are a lean and potentially healthier option." Her brow furrowed. "I think."

After fussing with the place settings, she reached into the cooler and tossed a bottle of A&W to Sam. She shrugged, saying, "The good stuff is back at my place. Since we're police officers, and we're in a public park, and we're driving, we should probably obey those laws. "

With a quick jerk of his wrist, he opened the bottle and brought it to his lips. "I can't even tell you when the last time I drank this stuff was. And in a glass bottle… Fancy." He tipped his drink in mock-salute. "If this is how we're going to do anniversaries… Color me impressed, McNally."

She grinned before turning back to the truck bed. "Based on proximity to a gas tank, I didn't think open flame would be such a good idea, so…" She pointed to battery-operated tea lights and shrugged. "No candles. Those will have to do."

"I'm okay with that," Sam said, wrapping his free hand around her waist and bringing her closer. "You thought this whole thing through, huh?"

"I'm a planner by nature," she said with a shrug. "I made a kickass potato salad. _And_ I wore a sundress, just for your benefit." Leaning close, she added, "_And_ I shaved," in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Yeah, thanks for that," he replied with a grin, eyeing her tan, bare legs appreciatively. "Good try with the trench, but I noticed the sundress right away."

"Yeah?"

"Guys have radar for that kind of thing."

"I should have known," Andy said, her voice laced with amusement.

"Hey, I'm not complaining," he said. "Far from it." Slipping his hand through her hair, he pulled her close. He didn't add that the sundress was white, a detail that had not gone unnoticed in light of his recent conversation with Abby.

"So, uh, tell me," he prompted, taking another pull from his root beer. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," she answered playfully. "I have _no _idea."

* * *

><p>"Did Oliver really say that?" Andy questioned an hour later, pushing aside the remnants of her meal with a plastic fork.<p>

"I cannot tell a lie."

"Your history with undercover ops would contradict that statement, but yeah, okay."

He chuckled, fishing for the blanket in the corner of the truck bed before leaning comfortably against Andy. "You know what I mean."

Her forehead wrinkled as she considered Oliver's words. "Well, as far as 'number one' goes, I promise not to trap you into saying something you'll later regret. I will only be pissed if I can't fit into a dress, and causally, my mile time suffers. I can handle the ins-and-outs of my body, but I couldn't take it if you beat me in the mile," she said, popping a carrot stick into her mouth.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Gee, thanks for that."

She ignored him, charging ahead with the conversation. "I don't think we have to worry about recitals right now, unless you have some theatrical gene I'm unaware of, and really… Well, you've always been able to read my emotions far too easily, so I can't imagine you would be ignorant of my interest or disinterest in birthdays and the like," she concluded.

"You're not an open book, McNally, but you're one I like to read."

"Birthdays are important," she continued, threading her fingers through his. "But you know that. And you already passed with flying colors. Actually," she said, popping up and rooting through her bag. "While we're speaking of birthdays..."

"This is for you," she said, handing him a tiny box with a bow on top. "Because you're totally lame about accepting birthday presents and acknowledging your age, so I have to settle for anniversary presents." She watched him with eager eyes as he lifted the lid, examining the gift card resting inside. Grinning, she explained, "It's for a new pair of running shoes. So you can't blame your loss on your crapped out sneakers or undercover-induced lethargy. Next time, you'll have to be more creative with your excuses."

"Hey," he replied, holding up a hand to silence her. "You know what they say… Third time's the charm."

Her grin became more pronounced, wide and white. "Next year's anniversary present is a bracelet. Pin all your hopes and dreams on it and enjoy second place." Patting his hand, she added conversationally, "Second place is first loser, you know."

Rolling his eyes, Sam nodded toward the small parcel on the coffee table. "And what's that?"

"Something tiny," she said, her face adopting a serious expression. "Open it."

"Is it something you plan on wearing later?"

She shook her head, biting back a chuckle.

"Not what I was hoping for, then," he teased.

Carefully sliding his index finger between the folds of the tissue paper, Sam unwrapped a small, glass figurine of a whale.

"It was an impulse buy," she admitted, searching his face. "When I saw Moby Dick on your dresser, that first day on shift… I don't know; it humanized you. Shed some light on your story, what drives you. Moby Dick and a plant, of all crazy things." Sliding her fingers through his, she squeezed his palm gently. "You didn't lose yourself."

He nodded silently, his eyes still fixated on the small object.

"You didn't lose yourself," she repeated quietly. "Your integrity, your drive…" She swallowed, her voice rough. "It's just… you know… I didn't expect you to be…" She broke off again, fiddling with her root beer before pushing it away. "Not many people can do what you do and remain true to themselves. It gets harder and harder to believe in yourself and your job, and easier and easier to find something that washes away frustration and guilt."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, rubbing her arm gently. He knew what was on her mind, but he also knew that she didn't need empty reassurances.

"Thanks," she said after a long moment. "Anyway, when I saw it, I thought of you." Her face brightened as she nodded to the figurine. "It's from the same vendor who sold me that vase I bought with Hannah."

He fingered the glass lightly, placing it back into the box. "That's where it all began, right? _Moby Dick_ in that crappy cover apartment."

"It's kinda dumb, I guess," she confessed, grimacing a little. "But I figured… This is _our_ year, right? That trafficking whale of a bastard is going down."

"It's not dumb," Sam said firmly, glancing at her. "It's a nice tribute to the beginning. Where we started. How far we've come."

She was silent for a few minutes, trailing her fingers across his chest. "Do you ever wonder about 'what ifs'? Like, what if a rookie hadn't burned me?"

"_**I**_ do, anyway," she continued in a quieter voice, edging her fingers toward his. "I sometimes wish there were a universal 'redo' button. Reset the clock, you know?"

"I mean, it's an appealing idea," he replied honestly, sweeping his hand across her forehead. "But we can't live life by 'what ifs' and 'maybes.' Fact is, we don't know. Like that whole thing with Emily and the thumbdrive? Who knows how many weeks I was away from a bust, really?"

He cleared his throat, closing his eyes for a moment. "But we helped a girl, kept her safe… And I got to know you. Not the uniform, but the heart." Turning on his side, he opened his eyes and gazed at her. "I may have been your T.O., but you can't teach bravery like that, Andy. Especially not on Day Two."

"We learn from those moments, and a redo button… Well, what would we learn? What if you didn't arrest me? What if I _hadn't_ met you? I'm fairly confident in saying my life would be a lot emptier right now. I wouldn't even know what I was missing."

"A legacy cop with a persistent need to prove herself?" she teased. "You wouldn't be missing much. You'd still be a street-smart, wiseass cop with a penchant for coloring outside the lines."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Just a little lonelier. And with more bark and bite." He poked her in the ribs. "You've softened me, McNally."

An unbidden smile graced her lips as she settled into the crook of his arm.

Pressing his lips together, he looked at her steadily before reciprocating with a grin of his own. "Just don't tell Ollie I said that."

"But enough theoreticals." Reaching into the truck's cab, he extracted a box, gingerly sliding it toward her. "It's your turn." He cocked an eyebrow, bumping her with his shoulder, "And just so you know, I wouldn't _change_ our history for all the _money _in the world."

He paused, before adding, "There's a joke in there, but it might take you a minute."

She suppressed a laugh, ripping the wrapping paper off to reveal a dark-paneled shadow box. Studying the box intently, she traced her fingers along the edge and glanced up at Sam briefly. Returning her gaze to the box, she caught sight of a photo inside, one she had taken herself.

It was a close-up of their faces, Andy's arm angled to snap the picture from above. She was laughing, and Sam was wearing her favorite grin. _Teeth and dimples and crinkly eyes_, she thought, a tiny, pleased smile assuming residence on her lips.

A coaster from the Penny, a travel pamphlet for Sudbury, and a Laundromat flyer bordered the photo, and next to each item rested a penny, a nickel, and several quarters respectively. The last item was a replica of a billiard ball and a twenty dollar bill.

"Highlights, I guess you could say. Reminders of the days I realized something about you… About _**us**_." He searched her face, his mouth tugging upward in a grin. "The lack of any hooker apparel or money therein _**is**_ intentional, by the way."

"Sam…" she began lightly, trailing off. "This…"

"Yeah?" he said carefully, his smile fading infinitesimally.

"Well," she affirmed, raising her eyes to meet his. "Without a doubt, your humor hit a plateau at age nine."

She bit her lip, tracing the edge of the box. "But this is probably the best gift I've ever received," she murmured, throwing her arms around him and nudging his mouth open for a kiss. "It's thoughtful and sweet and you didn't spend a lot of money, which I appreciate, and I don't know how you manage to do hokey things without them being hokey..."

"Yeah?" Sam repeated, his tone shifting into one of cautious optimism. "I wasn't sure… I'm glad you like it."

"I **love** it," she corrected, pulling back to look him square in the eyes. "I love _**you**_."

"Hey, hey, now who's being hokey?" Sam said teasingly, wrapping his arms around her back. "And who says I didn't spend a lot of money? There's 20 bucks and change in there, plus the cost of framing."

"You know what I mean," she said, punching his arm lightly.

"I do," he said, ceding her point. "Anniversaries are celebrations of memories, right? So there are a few memories in that box."

"Did you come up with all this by yourself?"

"Well, originally, I was just gonna hand you an envelope with a few loose coins," he deadpanned. "But Sarah thought a shadow box might be nice."

She gave him a blinding smile. "You win all the boyfriend points in the world."

"Thanks," he replied, his eyes dancing. "Okay, so don't get pissed… There's one more thing." Sliding a jewelry bag toward her, he nudged her hand. "Go on."

"Wait, what?" Andy inhaled sharply, turning to look at him.

Noting her dazed expression, he added reassuringly, "I'm not pulling a fast one on you, McNally."

She shook her head, her eyes wide and bright. "No, I didn't think… I just, uh…"

"I know you feel naked without your watch, and I know the one you wear is a casual accessory, as far as watches go, so that's why…" He reached into the bag and pulled out a long, flat box. "That's why I got you this. For special occasions."

"Oh, Sam," Andy breathed, a gust of air working its way from her lungs. "Thank you." Cradling the box, she lifted the lid and gazed at the watch inside. "You really are good at this gift-giving thing…"

"Well, I haven't forgotten everything in my old age," he said, winking. "And give me some credit, Andy. I'd like to think I'm more original than a jewelry bag, for… Well…" He cut off abruptly, reaching for the watch to fasten it to her wrist.

"It's perfect, I promise," she reassured him, leaning into his chest. "Good choices all around, copper." Sighing happily, Andy gazed up at the dusky clouds that populated the sky, framing the pink and purple streaks of sunset. "Serious question. Did you ever think we'd be here?"

"Here?" Sam asked teasingly. "Staring at the sky in the bed of my truck, seven months into a relationship and three years into…something?"

"No," he finished, laughing. "I did _**not **_think that."

"I'm, uh, glad we're here," she whispered.

"I think you picked a good date," he admitted, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand.

They were silent for several minutes, content with their thoughts.

"Did you really not want to commemorate the Alpine?" Sam prodded.

"Did _you_?" she parroted, stifling a giggle.

"Maybe we'll have a couple of anniversaries," Sam said, shrugging easily.

Andy raised her eyebrows, looking at him warily. "In my experience, men have a tough time keeping track of just one."

"I'm not most men," he argued, pointing to the shadow box. "You said it yourself, McNally."

"Is this one of those times I'm going to live to eat my words?"

"Probably," he conceded. "Maybe it's better that we stick to one 'official' date."

"Cross that bridge when we get to it?" she offered, a smile playing on her lips.

Hopping down from the truck bed, Sam reached for Andy's hand. "Are you gonna let me cross, or are you gonna tackle me before I get there?" he ribbed.

Setting her mouth primly, she waved off his helping hand. "I'll defer to the expertise of my former T.O. What does he think?"

Sam pretended to contemplate, watching McNally slide off the edge of the truck and into the damp grass below, slipping on her ballet flats as she waited for his response. "He thinks that if you aspire to successful and effective takedowns, you need to practice."

She arched an eyebrow, studying him. "Is that right?"

Sam nodded. "You know what they say… Practice makes perfect."

"Time to practice, then?"

Ushering her into the passenger seat, he skimmed a warm, rough palm down her bare leg. "Let's roll, copper."

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for sticking with me! Feel free to leave your comments or suggestions, and as always, thank you for reading.<strong>


	15. Chapter 15

Early summer. Serious doses of Shaw-nologuing. This chapter deviated from my original plan, but I hope the result is satisfactory.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Rookie Blue.

**A/N: There is brief reference to Sarah's assault after a present-day incident, and while the account is not graphic, I would caution readers to exercise discretion. If any reader has questions regarding the content, I encourage you to use the Private Messaging feature. I am happy to address any concerns.**

* * *

><p><strong>First case, taken home.<strong>

"Hey," she murmured sympathetically, approaching him in the bullpen. Her voice was tentative, gauging his response. "Heard you had a tough day."

"Not the easiest," he replied wearily. His eyes were dull, their usual light extinguished. His body sagged, and in the wake of her well-intentioned scrutiny, he averted his gaze.

"You wanna talk?" she asked softly, laying a warm hand on his arm.

He resisted the urge to rub his eyes. "No, I'm fine."

"Sam…"

"Andy." He forced a smile. "It's fine. Listen, I told Ollie we'd get a drink tonight, so…"

"Oh." Her face fell slightly. "No, that's good, absolutely."

He wanted to take back his words, the casual brush-off, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. "I'll, uh, call you later?"

"Sure," she said. "Just…" she trailed off, thinking better of her comment. Her gaze softened. "I love you."

He nodded, his mind elsewhere, but he leaned in to brush his lips across her temple. Dropping his keys in her palm, he turned on his heel toward the men's locker room. "Take the truck. I'll catch a ride with Ollie."

* * *

><p>"She knows," Oliver said conversationally. They were seated at a dive bar on the other side of town, far enough away from the Penny that they wouldn't have to make small-talk with coppers of Fifteen. Oliver had an arm propped on the faux-wood counter. Playing with the clasp of his watch, he spoke candidly.<p>

"McNally," he continued. "She knows. She's not dumb. She read the report earlier."

Sam felt his throat close involuntarily. He resisted the temptation to refute Oliver, settling for a response that was toneless and devoid of emotion. "So she knows."

"I can't imagine it's easy for her," he said. "The knowledge that you're at a bar. That you're… _hurting_ like this."

"Yeah, well." Sam scoffed. His grip tightened on his glass, the barest edge of anger in his voice. "I didn't come here to talk about my feelings."

"Sammy…" Oliver began. He sighed, signaling for another round. "Today was a tough day for everybody. And especially for you; I get that."

"I also didn't come here to hear a sermon on the virtues of good policing."

"Listen, brother. You can't keep the bad days from her. That's a recipe for disaster." He paused. "Talking isn't a cure-all, but it helps, Sammy."

Taking a slow sip of his scotch, Sam focused on the taste, let the woodsy flavor coat his throat and bring a shred of warmth to the cold, hollow cavity in his chest. Aching grief and consuming anger had erupted in his chest at the crime scene, barely shielded by a mask of detached professionalism. Those feelings lingered, even now.

Days like this… It was hard to let anyone in.

It wasn't the first sexual assault of a minor he had encountered. Over the course of his career, he had stumbled upon many scenes. Interviewed hundreds of witnesses. Watched as countless files passed over his desk. But there were always a few that hit especially close to home, crime scenes with little evidence and no witnesses, a stark reminder of the limitations of the system.

Like today.

He was the first responder.

She was thirteen. Dark hair, unruly curls, the last traces of baby fat in her cheekbones. Single-parent household. Model student. Walking home late from school and took a short-cut.

He closed his eyes, the nausea in his stomach becoming more pronounced.

Each instance ripped a hole in his chest, and even the knowledge that his sister was happy – healthy now; a loving husband and two beautiful daughters – it wasn't enough to dismiss the memory of her hollow eyes, the tear tracks on her pale face.

These were the hardest notifications for him. There was nothing easy about relaying this type of news to parents. First witness to their pain, the bewilderment written on their faces that faded to myriad emotions.

Disbelief. Sorrow. Anger. Helplessness.

The grief of knowing another family would have to deal with the aftermath, the uphill battle to recovery.

And every time a perp walked…It ate at him, gnawing and parasitic.

* * *

><p>"She talks too much," Sam said abruptly, slamming his glass on the bar. "She can't expect me to compete with that. I can barely get a word in edgewise; how am I supposed to tell her anything?"<p>

Oliver raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth, his words plain and even. "I think your anger is misdirected right now. Andy's chatterbox tendencies are not the issue."

"It was easier before," Sam said, running a hand through his dark hair. "No pressure to talk."

"Was it?" Oliver asked carefully, studying his hands. "Was it_ easier_?"

He paused, deciding to go for broke. "Were you _happier_, Sammy?"

Rubbing his jaw tiredly, Sam didn't respond.

* * *

><p>When her phone rang, she hit the answer button furiously, sending up a silent prayer of thanks to the universe.<p>

She expected to hear Sam on the other end. Instead, Zoe Shaw's familiar voice met her ears.

Her heart sunk momentarily, her forehead creasing in anxiety. It was sweet of Zoe to call – per Oliver's instruction, no doubt – but she wasn't in the mood to talk. To talk to anyone other than Sam, that is.

Zoe didn't force her hand, but her easy conversation and patient tone lifted Andy's spirits, and after a few minutes of pleasantries, she found herself opening up. For the time being, Zoe succeeded in distracting her.

She was grateful for Zoe's friendship. She had a motherly way about her, one that was neither smothering nor unbearable. Kind eyes, easy-going nature, and an uncanny ability to read a situation by the silence in a room – That was Zoe Shaw. She understood the hardship of loving a cop, and for that, Andy had a tremendous amount of respect.

In the months after their first dinner together, Zoe had assumed the role of sane confidante, with shades of a sisterly persona. Zoe was like that. She could tell you which lipstick hue was best for your coloring or strike the fear of God into your boyfriend's heart. She was blunt but sympathetic, and she never shied away from confrontation. She'd raise the battle cry, lead the charge, and ten minutes later, she'd be bandaging your knee and checking for bruises.

She didn't make every day life look easy, but she tackled life with a wisdom and grace that Andy admired. She was realistic about problems, optimistic about solutions, and sympathetic when it came to the male frame of mind.

"He hasn't called yet," Andy sighed into the receiver. "He said he would call, and I know he will…" She stretched her legs in front of her, picking at the worn lettering of her sweatpants. "I guess I'm just worried," she admitted.

"It's not often they run off, those two," Zoe reassured her. "Ollie will bring him home."

* * *

><p>"You can't shut her out. You've gone nearly eight months without a conversation about this."<p>

Sam exhaled through clenched teeth. "I don't…"

He shook his head, and his shoulders slumped. "I don't know where to start."

Andy knew the short story, knew what had happened. Long before they were a couple, he had shared the basic outline. What he hadn't talked about was the aftermath, those first few months.

Sarah, withdrawn and distant. Flinching away from noise. Retreating when anyone got close. It was an involuntary reaction, he knew, but the look of unadulterated pain, the devastation that haunted his mom's eyes…

He didn't suddenly develop a copper's eye for observation. Those instincts had been around for a while.

Sarah wasn't the same after the attack. Neither was their mother.

Neither was he, he supposed, when the full weight of what had transpired hit him. Makes a kid grow up quickly.

Made him angry at first, furious at the world. Over the course of a year, he went from a scrawny kid with a penchant for bad jokes to a single-minded young man that ran, lifted weights, and fought his way out of every confrontation.

He channeled the anger into determination as an adult – serve, protect, and keep the scum off the streets.

He learned about survivor programs, and when Sarah first began to volunteer with a crisis and advocacy program in the Greater Toronto Area, he drove her to and from the centre.

But there were days he wished he could do more.

Today was one of those days.

"Sammy," Oliver said patiently, interrupting his reverie. "Andy? She'll listen, if you give her the opportunity."

"Yeah."

Oliver nodded, encouraged by Sam's tone. "Okay."

* * *

><p>"The worst part," Andy said brokenly, her voice cracking. "The worst part is that he's hurting, and I can't do a thing about it."<p>

"I don't want this to be a precedent for our future," she continued quietly, shifting the phone to her other ear. Tucking her body into the corner of the couch, she fingered the frayed edges of Sam's Academy sweatshirt. "For either of us. Running away from a conversation; reluctant to communicate."

"Well, it has only been one night," Zoe said practically. She exuded a calmness that Andy didn't feel, but one that she was desperate to attain. "He needs time."

She stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought. "It doesn't help that he's dating one of the most impatient women on the planet, huh? I know he needs time, needs to figure things out, but I can't help…"

"I hate distance," she finished softly.

"I can't imagine that he loves distance, either," Zoe replied, not unkindly. "But Andy… Inviting you into that part of his life? That's a big deal for a guy like him."

"Is it because I talk too much? He's afraid I'll say the wrong thing or react the wrong way…"

"Actually, I think he's afraid _**he**_ might say the wrong thing," Zoe said. "It's never easy to talk about the past; acknowledge the fear and pain that still exist… Even to the ones we love."

* * *

><p>"She's worried." Staring at his drink, Sam added, "She probably thinks she did something wrong."<p>

"Probably," Oliver agreed. His sharp eyes belied his nonchalance. "You're both stupid like that; blaming yourselves for circumstances beyond your control."

Sam shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. "I don't know why I reacted like that. She's a great listener. If I were more self-aware, I would have talked to her about this before… Well, before anything happened."

"Ah, yes. If you were more self-aware," Oliver cut in, nodding sagely."If you were more self-aware, you would have opened up."

"That's what I said."

"Hmm. And if you were more self-aware, you'd use mouthwash regularly."

"What?" Sam said sharply, his head snapping up. "What does that even...?"

Oliver continued, undeterred. "You know what else? If you were more self-aware, you would stop buying your t-shirts at babyGap." He raised his eyebrows, cocking his head and tapping Sam's bicep. "We get it; you have muscles."

Rolling his eyes, Sam slid off the barstool. "Yeah, okay, got it."

"Do you? Because if you were self-aware, you wouldn't have offered this bait so freely."

Ignoring Oliver's satisfied smirk, Sam pointed to the door. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Take your time; I'll just be finishing my drink." As Sam walked away, he called after him. "And yours, buddy. But you probably already knew that."

* * *

><p>Safely ensconced under the awning of the bar, Sam shook his head. Oliver's blatant attempts to lighten the tension weren't exactly warranted, but that was Oliver for you.<p>

He was happy for the distraction, truth be told.

Punching a familiar number, he leaned against the brick facade. The night air was balmy and still, and Sam cleared his throat, preparing to speak.

"Hey," he breathed, his grip on the phone tightening infinitesimally when the warm, female voice greeted him. "Hey, it's me."

"I could have sworn my caller ID was wrong," she laughed. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you. Aren't old geezers like you asleep at this time?"

"Funny," he said dryly. "Right off the block, huh? You sure you wanna open that can of worms?"

"Hair dye and SPF," she replied matter-of-factly. "I hide it better than you, and I'm not ashamed to admit it."

His grumble, more for show than actual sentiment, echoed in the receiver. "Just wanted to see if you had plans for next weekend or the week after. Thought I might drive up."

"Miss me?" Sarah teased. "No, wait. Don't tell me. Is this your way of earning 'sensitive' points with Andy?"

"You caught me," Sam deadpanned, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. "Guess the jig is up."

He could hear her grin over the phone. "I'm kidding; the girls would be ecstatic. Um, hold on a sec, and I'll check the calendar."

The mental image of Sarah, fumbling in the kitchen, pulling a drawer open and flipping through the pages of the calendar... The normalcy comforted him.

It was a reassurance he didn't know he needed.

"Next weekend is a little busy for us, but maybe the weekend after?"

"Yeah," Sam said, exhaling. "Yeah, that would be great."

"Andy's coming too, right? How is she doing?"

"Good. Long week for us, but she's, uh. She's doing well."

"Well give her a hug for me, ok? And let her know, Abby has been nothing short of dedicated to that adjustable basketball hoop. She's begging for time outside every night. Andy might have a coaching job in the near future."

"Will do."

"Thanks."

"Yup," he drawled casually, tracing a finger aimlessly across the brick wall before him. Stalling for time.

Sarah paused, and as if sensing something, added, "I know I've said it before, but I'm happy you guys have each other, you know? It gives some peace to this big sister's mind. Knowing that someone else has your back in Toronto."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"Okay, okay, I promise not to get painfully sentimental. It might damage your rep, I get it."

He chuckled once, quick and quiet. "I, uh… I love you, Sarah."

"Love you too, Sammy. Goodnight."

Hearing the tell-tale _click_, he stood for a moment with his phone out, staring at the screen. The photo ID, a picture of his sister hugging Hannah before her first semi-formal, made his heart ache.

It wasn't a painful ache this time. Bright smiles, the pair of them.

Swallowing hard, he returned to the main menu and hit speed dial three. Tapping his foot impatiently, he waited for a connection.

The call went straight to voicemail, and the sound of her voice, clear and confident, affected him more than he was willing to admit.

Flipping his phone shut, he pocketed it and reached for the door handle to the bar.

* * *

><p>"He's a private guy," Zoe said plainly. "I don't have to tell you that."<p>

Andy sighed, snippets of past conversations swirling in her brain. "I know."

"He's also more open with you than I have ever seen before."

Her mouth curved upward, and she exhaled deeply. "I shouldn't work myself up. He has a right to his privacy, and to share in his own time."

"Eight months together is nothing to write off, Andy. When he's ready to talk, he'll talk."

Zoe wished her a goodnight, but before hanging up, paused noticeably. "He loves you, Andy. And love is a powerful thing."

* * *

><p>"I love her," he said suddenly, an hour later. He had switched from scotch on the rocks to ice water, hoping to clear his head.<p>

"I'm gonna marry her," he continued, his voice rough with emotion. "I want to marry her."

Oliver nodded silently.

"She could say no," Sam continued.

"She won't."

"She might."

Oliver scoffed. "Don't be stupid."

"She makes me want things I never thought I wanted. UC use to be the ultimate thrill, you know? But I've been caught in this tailspin…" He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the onslaught of emotion.

"It's this rush," he continued, his voice ragged. "This heavy, inconceivable rush, every time she's around. I see her smile, and her commitment to the badge, and… She's like a ray of goddamn sunshine. She brightens everything. Because she sees the good in humanity, wears her damn heart on her sleeve, and I can't…"

"You can," Oliver corrected, staring at his scotch. "_**Can't **_nothing. You can, and you will. Because she'll fight for you, that one. If you can't see the way she looks at you… She gets as much strength from you as you do from her, and if that's not partnership…" he trailed off. "She accepts you, and she challenges you to be a better person, personally and professionally. And even when you don't rise to the occasion, even when you stumble or misstep, she loves you."

"Communication, brother. That's the key... It's always the key. You found the right girl. For once in your life, let someone help you through this... Let _her_ help you through this."

Pushing his glass away, Oliver coughed lightly.

"Zoe and I – We don't have a perfect relationship. But every day, we're committed to making it work."

He cleared his throat again, focusing on a point in the distance. "Every day I put on this uniform, and I provide for my family, and that, _**that**_ is love. Every soccer game and violin recital I go to, that is love. Every time I pay a bill or read a bedtime story or do a load of laundry so Zoe has ten minutes to herself, that is love. And if it takes time for you and Andy to figure out what love means, so be it. You express it in different ways, but dollars to donuts, she's at home right now, trying to figure out a way to show you how much she loves you. Love is about trust, and even on difficult days…"

He paused, drumming his fingers on the bar top.

"You've seen us fight, Zoe and me, but at the end of the day – There is nothing I wouldn't do for that woman. Stick myself in the line of fire; come hell or high water. And there are days when I go too far, cross a line or say something I shouldn't say, and there are days when everything grates – the noise, the finances, the tone of voice she uses. But you know what? There has never been a time when those fleeting moments got the best of me. Because I take a long look around, and I see what a lucky bastard I am. That this woman loves me, and forgives me, and makes everything in this life bearable… Bright and clear and worthwhile."

His face, grave in the dim light of the bar, was underscored by his quiet, urgent tone. "Every dark time, she's been there, standing behind me. And days I can't stand on my own… She's carrying my weight, and I don't have to tell you… I'm no easy load, brother. And if that's what McNally is to you… I don't know why the hell you're still sitting on this barstool."

They were silent. The patrons in the bar were few, and Sam and Oliver, seated a distance from the door, were left alone with their thoughts. Thoughts, and the drip-drip of early summer rain echoing on the pavement outside.

"You need a tissue?" Sam finally prompted, breaking the silence.

Oliver pushed off the bar with a shake of his head. "You're an ass."

"You don't have to tell me anything," Sam continued, swirling the glass in front of him. "Zoe is a saint for putting up with you, day in and day out."

Eyeing Sam up and down, Oliver cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah, next time you want advice, don't come crying to me, you piece of shit."

Sam laughed, his first free, easy laugh of the day.

"Go talk to her," Oliver instructed, tilting his head toward the door. "Keep her in the loop."

"Besides," Oliver said, lifting his credit card to get the bartender's attention. "She probably has far more effective methods of cheering you up."

* * *

><p>It was well-past midnight when he slipped into her apartment, the key she had given him many months before dangling from his fingers. Making his way into her bedroom, he paused in the doorway, swallowing hard as he took in her appearance. Long, dark hair splashed across the pillow, fingers clutching her cell phone tightly. Her back was toward the door, and in the dim light of the apartment, he could make out the curve of her figure.<p>

Quietly, he divested himself of his t-shirt and jeans, dropping his wallet and keys on the dresser by the door. Crawling under the sheet, he moved swiftly to slip an arm around her waist. She shifted as his weight made a depression in the mattress. Blinking sleepily, she turned to face him, the surprise evident on her face.

"Hey," she murmured, tenderly brushing a hand across his forehead. "I'm glad you came over."

"I'm sorry it's so late," he whispered. "I didn't want to wake you."

She shook her head, dismissing the notion. "Come here." Shifting underneath the sheet, she tugged his hand, linking their fingers. "I want you close."

"Andy," he said hesitantly, his voice halting. "About earlier…"

"S'ok," she mumbled, drawing him closer. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and a small smile lit her features. "We'll talk tomorrow. I'm just glad you're here."

"I love you," he said quietly.

She sighed happily, and after a few moments, her breathing evened out, slow and regular.

"I love you," he repeated in the darkness.

* * *

><p>Talk tomorrow they did.<p>

She held his hand as he relayed the entire story, not once interrupting him. When his voice demanded a respite, she waited patiently.

His body shuddered once, and she didn't comment, just brought their joined hands to her lap and squeezed his fingers gently. His eyes, rimmed in red, were focused on a point in the distance, but she didn't try to bring his attention back to her.

When he had finished, she sat in silence with him, brushing her thumb across the back of his hand in a soothing, repetitive motion.

After several minutes of silence, she opened her mouth.

"You are one of the strongest people I know," she said, without a trace of hesitation in her voice. "But if there are days when you need someone else to be strong… That's okay, too."

Releasing his hand, she swung a leg over his body and straddled his lap.

Clasping her hands tightly around his neck, she pressed her lips to his brow. Slowly, carefully, she pulled back. Cradling his cheek in her hand, she stared at him, unblinking. "You are a good man, Sam Swarek." Leaning in, she brought her cheek to his and tightened her grip on his shoulders. "And I love you."

He nodded, whispering, "Thanks."

What he was thanking her for – He wasn't sure.

All of it.

"I've never…" He trailed off. "No one, not even Ollie… He knows some of this, but…"

She sat back, placing her hand on his cheek once more. "Thank you for trusting me," she said quietly.

He nodded, slow yet resolute.

"We're a team, you and me, and a damn good one," he murmured, fingering a strand of her hair.

She smiled gently, her words a soft, deliberate echo.

"You and me."


	16. Chapter 16

Mid-summer, I would venture - Late July. Enjoy!

Thanks for all the marvelous reviews! Special shoutout to Mamaverd for planting the seed about firing ranges many weeks ago. (I should add, I'm no arms expert, so readers - Please forgive me for any ignorance/presupposition/mistaken vocabulary, etc.)

DISCLAIMER: As ever, I don't own Rookie Blue.

* * *

><p><strong>First bet.<strong>

Tossing several clean t-shirts into the laundry basket, Andy reached inside the dryer, extracting a few more articles of clothing and sorting them into piles. Sweeping her hand across the bottom of the machine, she picked up the last two items – a single uniform sock and a pair of worn, familiar jeans. Sighing, she pushed the basket aside and walked into the kitchen.

"Sam," she called patiently, trying not to startle him. He lay on his back, halfway inside the cupboard beneath the sink. From her vantage point beside the island, she could see his elbows moving and hear the clang of metal against metal as he tinkered with the pipes.

Kicking his ankle lightly, she tried again. "_Sam_."

Lowering his arm, he dropped the wrench on the floor next to him and poked his head out. "Yeah?"

"I have a personal favor to ask."

"Is that right?" He stood, wiping his hands on his jeans before turning to the sink to check for additional leaks. As the water rushed down the drain, he squatted, squinting against the darkness in the cabinet and running his hand over the pipe there. "_Finally_," he muttered. Turning the tap off, he swiveled to meet Andy's gaze.

"What kind of favor? Fix your sink? Unclog your drain? No, wait." He grinned, dimples on display. "Need me to scrub your back in the shower?"

"Yeah, maybe," Andy replied, her laugh echoing in the kitchen as she thumbed his grimy, damp t-shirt. "I always have trouble reaching back there."

He smirked, wrapping his arms around her and steering her toward the bathroom. Tucking his chin into the dip of her shoulder, he urged her forward. "Well, perfect. As it just so happens, I need a shower, too."

"Sam!" she cried, dragging her heels against the wood floorboards. Wiggling against his wandering hands, she caught his forearm and twisted her body around. "I was kidding. C'mon, be serious."

"Huh. _Serious_, she says." Refusing to release her waist from his grasp, he buried his nose in her neck and mumbled faintly, "But all this talk of favors…"

She rolled her eyes half-heartedly, a smile on her lips. "Seriously. I have a request. Hear me out, okay?"

"Ah, yes," he replied, exhaling slowly and taking a step back. An unbidden smirk appeared on his lips._** "That**_ kind of favor. You have a specific tone of voice for _those_ kind of favors. Something I'm not going to like, then?"

"I wouldn't say that _exactly_." She looked at him hopefully. "Okay, so you're a grown man and entitled to make your own decisions concerning your wardrobe…"

"You're right," he interrupted, the mid-summer light betraying the amused glint in his eye. "I am."

"_But_," she continued in a persuasive tone, "Sometimes a girlfriend can offer a little insight, you know?"

He raised his eyebrows in silent challenge, waiting for her to elaborate.

Grabbing his arm, she tugged him back into the kitchen where his jeans lay folded on the countertop. Pointing to the offending garment, she looked at him imploringly.

"They've been washed about a million times, Sam. Between normal wear-and-tear and excessive laundering, they're going to be… like, _white _soon." She rested a hand on her hip, leaning against the counter for support. "Can you _please_ get rid of them?"

He glanced at her solemn face, not perturbed in the least. "Uh, no."

"Sam," she persisted. "Seriously, they're hideous."

"No," he repeated. "Sorry, Andy. Not happening."

She opened her mouth as if to argue before he cut her off.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe I was wearing those very jeans when you followed me into the Penny parking lot, looking for a kiss goodnight."

She fixed him with a skeptical look. "I think you're _generously_ rewriting the past. Besides, remember how that night ended?" She poked him in the ribcage. "I don't accept rides from men who consider this an acceptable denim option."

"Oh, I see," he acknowledged, a gleam in his eye. "So the truth finally reveals itself."

"Yup," she confirmed, nodding. "They're awful. A total turn-off. I didn't want to be mean about it, but..."

"Well, I happen to love them."

"Ugh, Sam. They're like _dad_ jeans." Andy huffed, prodding the denim with her index finger. "Next thing I know, you're going to try to justify black socks with white tennis shoes."

"C'mon, McNally," Sam teased. Holding a hand over his heart, he feigned a wounded expression. "Love me for what I am."

He picked up the jeans, waving them in front of her face. "They're _comfortable_. Do you know how long it takes to break in a good pair of jeans?"

"I know," she said, cringing. "Sam, I'm trying to be reasonable about this, but... Really? There is a world of possibility out there. Beyond this singular pair of jeans."

"You know what?" he said, amused by her extreme reaction. Throwing the jeans over his shoulder, he headed toward the stairs. "I think I'm going to wear them, just as soon as I take that shower."

She shot a dirty look at his retreating back. "Sam…"

"Can't wait to slip them on!" he called from the steps, his tone falsely cheerful.

She wrinkled her nose, irritated by his attitude. "You can forget about washing my back, you know. Or getting anywhere close to me, for that matter."

She heard his chuckle echoing in the upstairs hallway. "Yeah, okay. We'll see who is crying uncle by the end of the week, McNally."

* * *

><p>"Amateurs," Andy scoffed, several hours later. After an afternoon of pointedly ignoring Sam, she had given up her mission to rid him of his jeans, and now she lay sprawled across the couch with Sam by her side. They were watching a dramedy about the lives of 'seasoned' cops, and Andy couldn't contain her distaste for their procedural ignorance.<p>

"They don't even make it look real," she continued. "Look at how that guy is cocking his gun. And the way he turned that corner? No self-respecting cop would turn a corner like that, unless he wanted to get shot."

Sam's lips twitched suspiciously. He knew Andy was still worked up, and he couldn't resist the temptation to tease her. "Think you could do better, McNally?"

"Yes, actually," she said flippantly, tossing her hair. "I do."

"Hmm," he intoned, not disagreeing with her assessment but also not hurrying to appease her. Andy's offensive attack had left him hunting for a bit of payback, and a prime opportunity had just presented itself.

"What, you don't think I can?" she questioned, studying him.

"I never said that," Sam replied, idly changing the channel.

"But that's what you meant." She was silent, contemplating his expression. "That _**is**_ what you meant. God, Sam, I've been on the force for over three years!" she said, her voice becoming heated. "I know how to handle myself with a gun."

"I trained you, Andy; I know that," he answered coolly. "Calm down."

"I can handle a gun just as well, if not better than you can."

He hummed noncommittally, flipping to another television show.

"You really are an egomaniac, aren't you? Just because I'm a girl…"

"Hey." He held up his hand, cutting her off. "You're putting words in my mouth. I never said it was because you're a girl."

"But what? You shoot with more precision? Accuracy? Please, don't hold back on my account."

"Andy…" He clucked his tongue impatiently, "C'mon, this is dumb."

"No, no. It's not dumb." She stared at him pointedly, gauging his body language. "You wanna put your money where your mouth is?"

He sighed heavily, tossing the remote and regretting his decision to bait her. "I'd rather put my mouth where your mouth is."

She ignored his comment, primly folding her legs into his lap. "You. Me. Six rounds at the firing range. Winner gets bragging rights and eternal glory."

"Eternal glory?" Sam yawned, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. "That's a thing?"

"Hey, it's a competition," Andy explained, squaring her shoulders. "Unless you feel threatened."

"Huh," Sam said dryly. "Wouldn't have pegged you for competitive."

She smiled fiercely, the blood pumping in her ears. "So, you in? Or are you afraid of being taken down by a girl? _Again_."

"Nothing to be afraid of, McNally," Sam said, running a hand behind her knee and tickling the warm skin there.

"I have a faster mile time," she said confidently, sliding her legs off his lap and flipping around.

"Speed is nothing without strength," Sam insisted, tapping his arm. "Stronger arms."

"Higher jump," Andy said, pointing at herself. "I can outrun _and_ outrebound you."

"Harder swing at-bat," Sam said, tugging her ponytail and crossing his arms. "And harder punches, so..."

"Longer stride," Andy replied, arching an eyebrow.

"Taller stature, broader shoulders, deeper voice."

She wrinkled her nose, elbowing him lightly. "Physical attributes don't count."

"I'm better at Sudoku," he maintained, meeting her steely eyes.

"I'm better at Catchphrase," she countered, scowling.

"Just because you and Nash have a ridiculous mind-meld thing…"

"Just because _you_ spent months of time undercover with a plant and a book of puzzles…"

"I can book a perp faster."

"I can chug a beer faster."

"Not all of us are in our twenties, Andy," Sam said, annoyance creeping into his voice. "Just because _I don't_, doesn't mean _I can't_."

"Whatever," she replied with an easy shrug, pleased that she had finally managed to get under his skin. "Game on."

Sam eyed her appraisingly, switching the TV off. "Fine. Game on."

"Good," she replied haughtily.

"And_ bragging rights_? Those are your only stakes?" He paused, adding fuel to the fire. "Are you really that small-time, McNally? Or are you just afraid of losing?"

"You want stakes?" She snapped her fingers, pointing to his waist. "If I win, you have to throw out that nasty pair of jeans and buy a new pair."

"And if I win?"

"You won't," she said confidently, straightening.

"But if I do?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Well, it seems only fair that if you get to toss something of mine, I should…" He paused, a smile breaking out on his face. Walking over to the laundry basket, he rifled through the items until he found the hand washables. "Actually, wait. If I win, I won't make you throw anything out, but you have to wear something I pick out. _Whenever_ I want you to wear it." Tossing a matching set of lingerie toward her, he grinned lasciviously. "I'll even get something new – Keep the stakes interesting."

"Really?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "You wanna go there?"

"Less is more," he said conversationally. "I think less _will be_ more in this situation. Pattern, cut, color… So much to choose from," he finished, smirking.

She paused, carefully considering the offer. "You're on," she agreed, extending a hand to seal the deal.

"Something with lace, probably. Maybe a ribbon or two," he teased, his mood suddenly jovial. Picking the laundry basket up and settling it on his hip, he headed upstairs.

"Something that'll be fun to unwrap," he called from the stairwell. "For both of us."

* * *

><p>"So, sometime this week?" She sat cross-legged on his bed, her hair in a thick, wet knot at the top of her head. "<em>If<em> we can procure an impartial judge."

"Yeah," Sam said, rolling his eyes and moving around the room. "After next shift, if you want."

She nodded in assent, absently running her fingers over the down bedspread.

"You really think you can beat me?" she asked, studying the rhythmic flex of his shoulders as he opened and closed dresser drawers.

"Yes," he replied without any hesitation. He hazarded a glance at her, smacking a bare leg as he passed en route to the nightstand. "I really do," he finished wryly.

"You're wrong, you know," she said conversationally. "I'm an excellent shot."

"Mm," Sam mumbled noncommittally. "That may be, but where's your head?" Tapping her temple, he searched her face. "Some of us have the drive, _and_ the years of experience to back it up."

"Whatever," she replied, waving her hand dismissively. "I'm in it to win it."

Sam smiled, his face dark with amusement. "Is that right?" Halting his search, he backed her into the headboard, lowering his voice when he spoke again. "You have to have a sharp eye, McNally," he said softly, looking her up and down, "And a steady hand." Tracing a hand down Andy's side, he gripped her waist and pulled her closer.

Andy's breath hitched, and she swallowed thickly. "I know that."

He silently congratulated himself for the impending victory. "So maybe we'll go shopping together for something for you to wear, yeah?" He sat back on his haunches, grinning devilishly. "Let's see… I like you in purple… and red… and black, definitely black."

Recognizing his ploy, she pushed away from him, shoving a hand against his chest. "Forget it. Kiss those jeans goodbye, Swarek."

* * *

><p>Two days later, they stood in the glass, soundproof corridor, waiting for their designated timeslot at the firing range.<p>

Chris studied them apprehensively, his eyes flickering between Andy and Sam. Taking a breath, he nodded toward the range. "Per your request, you will enter the corrals one at a time, and we'll examine the targets after each of you has had the opportunity to shoot."

"This is ridiculous," Oliver said with an exaggerated huff. Gesturing over his shoulder, he began to walk backwards toward the entrance. "McNally, you're up first. I want to get home to a hot meal and my hot wife, so let's get this show on the road."

Sam grinned, his arms folded across his chest, before looking to Diaz. Truth be told, he knew Andy was an excellent shot. The best way to throw her off her game, however, was to pretend otherwise.

"I taught her everything she knows," Sam said conversationally, knocking his elbow against Oliver's. "Remember that, alright?"

"Whatever," Oliver interrupted, continuing to the far end of the hall. "I'm only here as supervisory personnel. Do whatever it is that you need to do, and meet me inside." Adjusting his ear muffs, he passed through the sealed corridor into the range.

Spinning on her heel, Andy arched one eyebrow, daring Sam to continue with that thread of conversation. "You are not my father, nor were you my instructor at the Academy, so think again, slick."

"Uh, I'll just meet you inside, okay guys?" Chris offered nervously, before following in Oliver's wake. "Whenever you're ready."

"Now, McNally," Sam whispered huskily in her ear, "Don't be like that." Sweeping his hands across her lower back, he rubbed warm, deliberate circles against her skin with his thumb. His breath, hot against her ear, caused her to inhale sharply. "I taught you on the streets, didn't I? Now try not to mess up, okay?"

She fidgeted once, a brief concession to discomfort before clenching her teeth at his patronizing tone. Sam leaned in, the barest edge of his teeth grazing the outer shell of her ear. "Good luck." Pushing her forward, he smacked her butt.

Setting her jaw, she followed Chris through the doorway at the end of the corridor and took her position. Her stance was taut and compact, and her eyes narrowed on the target as she approached the designated firing point.

She tossed her hair, settling the ear plugs in her canal before placing the heavy-duty muffs on top of her ears. Adjusting the goggles over her eyes, she flexed her hand and rolled her shoulders, circulating the blood between her bone and muscle.

He watched intently, his hand rubbing his chin as she fired six successive rounds. Her arm was steady, and while he couldn't make out the individual marks, he could tell that she had done well.

Pumping an imaginary fist, Andy managed to compose herself before returning to the airlocked corridor. Approaching Sam, she smiled broadly, removing her muffs and goggles.

"All set?" she prompted him, stepping close. If he had no qualms using his _charms_ to distract her, well…

_Turnabout was fair play_.

He caught the scent of her shampoo and detergent, and against his better judgment, he breathed in. His eyes drifted closed, and he found himself pausing mid-stride.

Andy cleared her throat, looking at him expectantly. "All set?" she repeated, her tone thick with implications.

"Ready to go," he said easily as his eyes flew open. "I, uh - I didn't want to rush you."

"How chivalrous," she replied dryly. "Well, Oliver and Chris are waiting."

"That they are," he answered, moving to step around her.

He was almost to the end of the hall when her wrist shot out toward him. "Actually, Sam... Can you wait a sec?"

He heard the catch in her throat, and he turned on his heel. "Something wrong?"

Andy suppressed a smile and shook her head, sidling toward him.

He didn't miss the decisive, alluring sway to her hips. His eyes flickered between her legs and her eyes, which had grown darker in a matter of seconds.

"_Hey_," she drawled, trailing a hand over his chest and down to his navel. Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she looked up at him through thick lashes. "Don't forget to focus," she said coyly, a hint of laughter on her lips.

"Hmm," he said, looking down at her through half-lidded eyes. "All charity and altruism, you are."

"I learn from the best," she replied, edging up on her toes to nip lightly at the line of his jaw.

He relaxed infinitesimally, craning his neck to give her better access to his jaw. She smiled against his cheek, confident with her plan of action, until Sam took a step back and gazed at her, his tone professional and detached.

"Good effort," he conceded in an infuriatingly calm voice. "But I've been in this game for years, and uh, sweetheart? You've _just_ been called up to the Majors."

Her jaw tightened, but she didn't acknowledge his words. Pressing her chest against his, she leaned in, lips hovering over his mouth. "Well then, a seasoned veteran ought to be able to overcome a few distractions," she murmured, her lips barely moving. Then, because she knew it would cause a reaction, she skimmed her palms across his back and down one hip, hitching his leg closer before biting his lip. A slight shudder ran through his body, and she smiled to herself. When she pulled away, his smirk had disappeared.

With deliberate force, she shoved him away before adding in a saccharine voice, "And don't mess up, officer. I'd hate to see less than your very best."

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, Sam and Andy crowded around Chris and Oliver as they reeled the targets toward the designated corrals.<p>

Chris examined the markings. "It's close," he confirmed, pulling his flashlight from his duty belt. "Really close. It basically comes down to one round." Setting the flashlight aside, he shot Andy a sympathetic smile. "I think Sam won."

"WHAT? No!" Andy cried, stamping over to Chris. Her cheeks, flushed with indignation, revealed the tight set of her jaw. "Let me see…"

"Well," Sam said, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Guess I was right."

Andy shook her head in disbelief. "This can't be right."

"Don't be too broken-hearted, Andy," he ribbed, moving to stand behind her and rub her shoulders. "You made a valiant effort."

"Shut up," Andy snarled, throwing off his hands. "Or I'll volunteer you for the next target practice."

His eyes crinkled at her obvious flare of temper. "I'd be happy to give you some pointers, sweetheart."

"_As the target_," Andy clarified, narrowing her eyes at him. "I'll volunteer you as the target."

He laughed heartily. "As your former TO, I'd say you did a fine job."

She rolled her eyes. "Your condescension is such a comfort." Shaking her head, disappointed, she conceded defeat. "I was wrong, I guess."

Shutting her eyes briefly, she forced a smile onto her face. "Congratulations."

* * *

><p>"Don't be mad at me, Andy," Sam said, trailing her in the parking lot.<p>

"I'm not mad at you," she replied airily, stalking toward the truck. "Yes, my ego may have suffered a blow, and yes, I will continue to hound you about your crimes of fashion, but I'm not mad."

He cocked an eyebrow, wisely refraining from any commentary.

"Okay, fine," she snapped, waving her hand in annoyance. "I won't be mad tomorrow; just give me tonight to wallow."

Sam grinned against his better judgment. "How about we go the Penny and I buy my girl a drink?" he offered, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "I promise not to rub it in… _too_ much."

Andy sighed as the heavy weight of his arm settled around her. Seconds later, her pouting - devoid of any real aim - gave way to hopeful expectation. "Chug a beer with me?" she asked.

"Are you proposing another competition?"

"Maybe," she hedged, suppressing any trace of mirth. "You interested?"

He grinned into her temple. "If we're chugging, you're buying, hotshot."

She lifted her gaze to his face, wrapping an arm loosely around his waist. "I'll get the first round. After that, loser pays."

Popping the door to the truck, he ushered her inside. "You know, you're much more attractive when you accept a loss with grace and dignity."

"Yeah, yeah." She rolled her eyes. "What was that you said earlier? Love me for what I am."

* * *

><p>A week later, Andy stumbled into the kitchen, stretching her arms above her head and running a hand through her hair sleepily. Stifling a yawn, she moved to where Sam was seated on a barstool, reading the morning paper. Crooking an arm around his neck, she kissed the top of his head and shuffled to the cabinet that housed glasses and mugs.<p>

He eyed her figure from his seat, the corners of his mouth pulling. In her quest to reach a mug on the top shelf, her tank top had ridden up, and her wrinkled sleep shorts weren't faring much better. Hiding a grin behind his own cup of coffee, he simply said, "Good morning."

"Mm," she acknowledged. Bestowing a bleary-eyed smile, she raised her empty mug in silent salute.

He stared at her for a long moment, a wide grin overtaking his face. "I think..." He paused, collecting himself. "I think I wanna cash in on that bet now."

"_Now?_" Andy whined, turning from the coffeemaker. "Sam, I just woke up. I haven't even had a cup of coffee yet."

"Yeah, well," he said nonchalantly, folding the paper back up and flicking his eyes toward her. "I've been sitting on this for a while, so…"

She rolled her eyes at his forced composure. "You poor thing, you've waited _a whole week_ to claim your prize."

Standing, he swiped the coffeepot from under her nose. "You could feign a little excitement for my sake, you know."

Pouting briefly, she slipped an arm around his chest. "I know that." Resting her head on his chest, she yawned again. "I'm sorry. I'm no longer a sore loser; I'm just grumpy about my lack of caffeine intake."

Sam nodded, running a hand through her hair. "Okay, here's the deal," he offered. "I'll get it so you can see it, and if you don't want to wear if right away, that's fine. In fact, I'll still make an amazing breakfast, and we can save it for another time."

She scrunched her nose, laughing at his eager expression. "You're good to me, you know that? Even when I'm a grouch." Swiping his full mug from the countertop, she quietly added, "Thank you."

He let her take two sips before prying the mug from her grasp. "You're welcome. But now you need to get your own cup, McNally."

She grinned brightly, reaching for her discarded mug. As she fiddled with the top of the creamer, she ran a hand underneath his t-shirt, whispering conspiratorially, "Anything but yellow, right? I look terrible in yellow."

A bark of laughter erupted from his chest. "It's not yellow; I promise."

"Okay then." She smiled, pulling him closer. "I'll take a peek, and then maybe _you'll_ get a peek. But a cup of coffee first. And breakfast."

"Done," he said. "Just give me a sec."

He returned, moments later, with a small bag in his hand. Reaching inside, he palmed the item.

His footsteps alerted her to his entrance, and turning on her heel, Andy attempted to stifle her giggles. Placing her cup gingerly on the counter, she held out her hands expectantly. "Show me what you got, Swarek."

"Here."

He tossed the item in the air, a stupid, silly grin on his face.

Her response was immediate and reflexive. Whipping one arm up, she deftly caught the object in one hand.

"You catch with your right," he said slowly, almost lazily. "But, uh. If I'm not mistaken, it's supposed to go on the left."

Andy stood there, stock-still, staring at the small velvet box.

The kitchen was silent, the hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic drip-drip of the coffeemaker the only sounds echoing in his apartment.

"What do you say, McNally?" Sam prompted softly. "You did promise to wear whatever I asked."

He shrugged, his posture relaxed but his eyes serious. "Well, uh - I'm asking now."

Gaping at him, she opened her mouth as if to speak, and then shook her head, promptly closing it again. Fingering the velvet box gingerly, she swallowed thickly and thrust it back at him.

"Stop," she said, her voice little more than a ragged whisper. "You're going to do this the right way, and not just because of some stupid bet."

He bit back a grin. "You wouldn't be calling it 'stupid' if you had won."

"Shut up," she said, blinking furiously. "Just… I don't know, just say something."

The laughter disappeared from his face, and his expression sobered. Stepping forward, he backed her against the kitchen countertop, trapping her with his arms.

He paused for a long moment, committing her image to memory.

"I love you, Andy" he said simply, his eyes boring into hers. He cradled her face gently, thumbing the warm, taut skin of her jaw. "Will you marry me?"

She stared at him, her eyes filling with tears.

"Yes," she said, swallowing against the lump of emotion building in her throat. Her eyes remained fixed on his, unblinking. "Yes."

A thousand different emotions flitted across his face, but she didn't register them. Circling his neck with her arms, she buried her face in his shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, sliding a hand across her jaw. Gripping her chin, he gently tilted her face toward his own.

"Do I get to see it?" she laughed, a few seconds later. "Here I am, saying yes forever, and I don't even know what the ring looks like."

"You gonna dump me if it's not up to your standards?"

"Absolutely," she deadpanned. "My dad always said I jumped the gun._ 'You need to think before you act, Andrea,'_" she drawled, mimicking his inflection. Grinning, she inclined her head toward the box. "Show me that ring. Let me make sure this is all worth it."

He flipped the box open, and Andy gasped at the ring nestled inside. The diamond was beautiful in its simplicity, not excessive or overwhelming. Exquisite and classic and lovely and...

"Just so you know, your dad approves," Sam said cautiously. "I mean, I didn't seek his approval for the ring _specifically_, but uh, he seems to be on board with this whole thing."

"You asked my dad?" Andy interrupted, her voice low and soft. "Really?"

Sam nodded. "I know that ritual may be a bit antiquated, but when I was young…"

"Oh, stop it," she informed him, wiping at her eyes. "It's sweet."

Sticking her hand out eagerly, she gestured for Sam to slide the ring on her finger. "Wait, what did you mean by, _'I've been sitting on this for a while'?_"

"Just what I said." He grinned charmingly. "What do you mean?"

"Sam…" she drawled impatiently. "Wait, did you devise this whole 'bet' thing?"

"No, I had neither the foresight nor the finesse to do so." He stepped back, smiling. "But after _you_ set the terms of the bet, it got me thinking."

Her eyes moved from her left hand to his face. "Yeah?"

"Can I tell you a secret?" he said in a hushed tone.

"What?"

He smiled, tugging her forward and linking their fingers. "I may have told Diaz to fudge the results if the victory was in your favor."

"What?" she scolded him, tightening her grip on his hand. "We picked Chris because he's the most honest of the rookies! You can't play games like that."

He grinned, amused by her exasperation. "You really like to win, huh?"

"I can't believe you," she said, shaking her head. "You didn't have to be so condescending."

He looked at her meaningfully. "You were a sore loser, copper."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "And you were an ass!"

"So we're par for the course, then?"

At that, a begrudging smile appeared on her face. "This may be our first fight as an engaged couple."

"Hmm," Sam mused, before tugging her toward the stairs. "We should probably go make up, then."

* * *

><p>"Forever," she said, several hours later, wrapped across his body. "That's like, a long time."<p>

"Yeah," Sam laughed, a low rumble in his chest. "That okay with you?"

"Mmm," Andy mumbled happily, nodding against his bare chest. "When we're old and grey."

"Well," she corrected, burrowing against him. "When _**I'm**_ old and grey."

"Watch yourself," Sam instructed, pinching her hip lightly.

"Reading glasses and rocking chairs and crossword puzzles and trips to the beach when I'm eighty and you're a fossil."

"I can always take it back, you know," Sam said easily, running a hand through her hair.

She smiled dreamily. "I can picture it now, the beach. You'll be wearing socks and loafers, grumbling about how your feet are cold and you hate nature…"

"I don't _hate_ nature, Andy," he interjected.

"And I'll be wrinkly and wobbly, fanning myself with a wide-brimmed hat and digging my toes in the sand. You'll complain about the umbrella set-up, but without the umbrella, you would complain about the sun."

"I do more than just complain, you know."

"And I'll be grinning at you maddeningly," she said, a smile on her lips. "But you won't mind, because I'm happy, and that makes you happy."

He studied her intently, pursing his lips in amusement. "You've got it all planned out, don't you?"

"But we'll sit, chairs next to each other, hands linked, and I'll say, '_Am I still pretty?_' and you'll say, _'Pretty crazy._' And we'll look out at the boats on the water, and I'll say, _'It was fate,_' and you'll say, _'We should have named our first kid _Alpine_,__'_ and we'd laugh until we couldn't catch our breath, and I'd look at you, and we'd just know. This is right. This is where we're supposed to be."

She tilted her chin to look up at him, eyes wide and sincere. "I want that, Sam. I want that with you."

He flipped them over, tucking her underneath him as he hovered on his forearms. He was silent for a moment, gazing at her steadily.

His voice was low and rough when he spoke. "If you want beach trips every year until you're old and I'm nearly extinct, then we'll make that happen. I promise."

She pulled him down, running a hand over his cheek. "I love you."

He leaned in, nudging her nose with his own. "You're it," he said firmly, slipping his fingers between hers. "And we've got a lifetime of _I love you's_ now."

* * *

><p><strong>Surprised? Me too! I hope the scenario wasn't too rushed for you. Thanks for reading, as always.<strong>


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **Hi guys! As we're nearing the end, I'd like to take a moment and thank everyone for their support and encouragement – Readers, reviewers, and those who have alerted/favorited. I have to be honest, I've been overwhelmed by the response. Thank you so much!

**This chapter is what I've deemed the 'natural conclusion' to the story, and you will find that the title is different. **(I'm also reserving the right to get a little hokey.)** This will NOT be the LAST chapter, however: I have one final chapter in store, an episodic epilogue. That chapter will chronicle future "firsts" and cover ground more quickly (e.g. fewer words per "first," but more "firsts"). Please enjoy!**

Setting: Fast-forward to the following spring…

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Rookie Blue.

* * *

><p><strong>Last single day.<strong>

"Morning, sunshine."

Smiling, Andy adjusted her grip on the phone, cradling it between her ear and shoulder. "Good morning. Someone's unusually chipper today."

"I can't be happy?" Sam asked, his voice playful.

"No, no, you can be happy. Please, be my guest. You're just usually battling Walter Matthau for the title of Grumpy Old Man. It's a nice change of pace, that's all I'm saying."

"Remind me again why I keep you around?"

"My sparkling wit, my good humor, that little thing I do when…"

Sam choked out a laugh, cutting her off. "Ok, well... Sarah's here, so we should probably talk about this a little later."

"Mmm, ok." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Besides, that diamond you gave me? It wouldn't look half as pretty in that box as it does on my finger."

"That's true enough." Sam drew out his words lazily before catching Sarah's eye. Coughing lightly, he cleared his throat. "Where are you now?"

Andy exhaled, switching gears. Pushing up on her toes, she grabbed her day planner from the top of the mantel and reached for pen tucked behind her ear. "Calling from my near-empty apartment. Headed to the hotel in an hour or so, right after I drop the keys off at the condo office."

"Hotel, huh? Big plans this afternoon?"

"Oh, the usual. Spa treatment. Long, luxurious nap. Some fancy-schmancy dinner. It's kind of a pain. I have to get all dressed up, and we're going to have to rehearse, and _ugh_. Can I appoint a proxy?"

"Sounds like a tough day."

"The worst. Don't even get me started on the company…"

"Good thing it's only one night. I mean, you wouldn't want to be locked into _bad company_ for the rest of your life."

"Right?" She blew out a breath, giggling. "Dodged a bullet there."

He smiled into the receiver, scrubbing his jaw. "It's the good copper in you."

She laughed heartily in response, bobbing on her feet. "Anyway, I was just about to call Sarah, confirm the time for manicures. I told Hannah she could pick the color."

"Trust me, I know. She could talk of nothing else; she's so excited. And Abby was prancing through the house all morning, tossing whatever she could find. Kleenex, cotton balls, these cashews she unearthed in the pantry…" He broke off, laughing. "Sarah put a stop to that one. Hannah and Abby are downtown with Will now."

Andy grinned, pocketing the pen and reaching for the packing tape. Sealing the final cardboard box, she glanced over at Traci. "Well, Trace and I are just about done here, so…"

"So I'll see you later tonight?" Sam asked, checking his watch. "I'll be the one at the end of the aisle."

"Tonight," Andy confirmed. "I'm thinking of two-stepping down the walkway. Thoughts?"

"I think you're a little bizarre, that's what I think." He stifled a chuckle. "Good thing we have a practice round tonight. Love you, crazy."

"Bye," she echoed, her cheeks flushing.

Pocketing her phone, she turned to Traci. "I can't believe it."

"What? That we're finally done packing this apartment? Me neither. God, for someone who claims not to be a pack-rat, you have a ton of crap, Andy."

Andy rolled her eyes. "It was a _process_. And besides, we're done now. It didn't take long to finish up the last few boxes." She paused, the corners of her mouth tugging. "I meant the wedding, anyway. I can't believe I'm getting married _tomorrow_."

Tossing the tape and markers into her tote bag, Traci collapsed on the hardwood floor, a smile on her lips. "It's pretty crazy, right?"

Sliding down the wall, Andy sat next to her, legs sprawling languidly. "The craziest."

"How are you feeling?"

"Good." She ran a hand through her hair, catching the loose end of her ponytail. "Really good, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Andy confirmed, nodding. "It just feels right, you know? I thought I might feel differently. Like, if people at work were talking about my, uh… track record with engagements."

She shrugged infinitesimally, a tiny smile on her face. "But it hasn't bothered me." Smoothing a seam on her jeans, she lifted her eyes to Traci's. "It's Sam. It's right."

Traci nudged her with her shoulder, her eyes sparkling. "Good. You know, I'm glad you decided to, uh - defrost him, so to speak."

"Yeah," Andy said, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, me too."

Stretching, she looked around her empty apartment. "Geez, we're like cop clichés, you and me. Getting involved with senior officers. It's like something out of a TV show."

"Yeah, and your wedding is the series finale." Traci grinned, offering a hand and pulling Andy up. "I'm kidding. You know what they say. _Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end…_"

Biting back a smile, Andy sighed, moving to stand by the window. "I'm gonna miss the natural light," she said wistfully. "Sam's place gets light, but not as much as I'd like."

"Yeah, well," Traci said, shrugging. "You're gonna have a man to make you happy in the morning. A silly thing like light isn't gonna be a big deal." She giggled, ducking the pen that Andy tossed at her.

They stood quietly, overlooking the view of Toronto, each lost in her own world.

Andy was the first to break the silence. "It makes sense financially to stay in the city, at least for now. His house is more than big enough for the two of us, and it's paid for. Besides, I love Toronto. I don't want to relocate anytime soon."

"I'm amazed you've kept this place," Traci said, motioning to the apartment, "As long as you have. I would be freaking out if I was still boxing up my apartment the day before my wedding."

"Well, luckily I'm learning to take things in stride," Andy replied with a laugh. "The hazards of being in a relationship with Sam Swarek, I guess. I plan meticulously, he goes where the wind calls him, we fight about it, and then we make up. Or, uh, something like that." She shook her head, a smile on her face. "It can get a little messy. But we've definitely had our respective lessons in patience."

"Well, messy isn't _always_ bad," Traci said with a salacious grin. "Messy make-ups, for example. Those can be fun."

Andy smiled, elbowing her lightly. "Anyway, he's more of a planner now, and I'd like to think I roll with the punches, right? Well, at least a little bit." She shrugged. "It helps that we have a reasonably small wedding. Big grand affairs aren't really our style, but I wanted more than a judge."

She paused, linking her arm through Traci's. "I wanted Sam's nieces to be a part of the celebration, and I couldn't resist forcing my best friend into a maid of honor dress…"

"Matron," Traci corrected. "But we can stick with maid. Matron makes me sound old," she finished with a wrinkle of her nose.

Dropping the final two boxes by the door, they settled on the floor, lying side-by-side with their backs pressed against the faux wood.

"So you're feeling good?" Traci asked, turning her neck towards Andy. "No cold feet?"

Andy shook her head minutely. "It's different, Trace. I thought… I don't know; I thought that after Luke, I would never want to go down that road again. But it's different with Sam. I'm…at peace. Like, this is supposed to happen, and even though there are days when he drives me crazy…"

She trailed off, sweeping a hand across the floor, watching the sunlight catch her ring.

Traci nodded silently.

"The idea of getting married… It's not looming over me, this heavy burden of expectation. The expectation that this is the next logical step, and I _should_ take it. I _**want**_ to take it. God, it's like I'm standing in Anton Hill's restaurant again, and the circumstances are terrifying, but he's there, you know? There are a thousand different ways we could fail, but any qualms, any lingering doubts I have are appeased by his presence..." She broke off, staring at the ceiling.

Her voice was softer when she spoke again. "I don't know how to explain it. Because it's not this intangible quality, it's not this 'he makes me feel safe' nonsense. I mean, **he does**, but it's more than that. We can be annoyed with each other, but he's always patient and kind when I need it most. He challenges me, too. Makes me stop and think when I'm running around like a maniac; pushes me to be the best I can, personally and professionally."

A tiny grin escaped her lips. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'll take issue with a condescending tone, and he knows that. You've seen us fight." She sighed, fiddling with her engagement ring. "It's just… I'm not working hard to make him fit in this mold. And he doesn't expect me to be someone I'm not. He just… He gets me, you know?"

Traci eyed her carefully, suppressing a smile.

"I didn't think this was possible, Trace. To love somebody this much. It's terrifying," Andy said, taking a shaky breath. "But I'm the happiest I've ever been. Like, _ever_-ever."

She was silent for a few seconds before she laughed, sitting up. "Ok, I'm going to stop talking like a made-for-TV movie; I'm making myself nauseous. But you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Traci echoed softly, pulling herself into a seated position. "Yeah, I do know." Throwing an arm around Andy's shoulder, she squeezed her tightly. "I'm happy for you, sweetie."

"Thanks. Thanks for being there through all of this, Trace."

"You're welcome. Now let's get this stuff in my car. We're stopping for some giant-ass margaritas before we hit the spa."

* * *

><p>Sam hung up the phone, spinning on his heel to meet Sarah's knowing gaze.<p>

"I wasn't sure I'd ever see the day."

"And what day would that be?" Sam said facetiously, rolling his eyes and snatching her mug away.

"When my little brother settled down." She grinned, linking her arm through his. "I've seen you commit to crew-necks and Canadian. But that's about as deep as you go… T-shirts and beers." She paused, tilting her head and staring at him. "Oh, and the Leafs. You've been in a long-term relationship with them for a while. But that doesn't count… It's largely one-sided."

"Huh," Sam drawled. "Keen observations, Nancy Drew."

She ruffled his hair, earning a dark scowl for her efforts. "I'm kidding. I knew this day would come. I just knew it would take a special kind of girl."

Sam shook his head. "She's definitely special, that one."

Taking a step back, Sarah crossed her arms in front of her chest, her lips twitching. "It's nice to see you this happy."

"I'm always this happy," Sam offered, sliding past her toward the kitchen.

"Hah," Sarah said, calling after him. "Yeah, you're a regular Guy Smiley."

He shrugged, a huge grin overtaking his face. "Hand me a mic and tell me where the camera is."

Sarah stared at him, shaking her head in amazement. "Ok, seriously, though. You need to stop smiling like that."

"Like what?" he said innocently, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"Like your face is going to break in half. Like there's a puppy and a large cup of coffee and a chubby baby in a onesie, all sitting in front of you." She bit her lip, studying him. "I applied my eyeliner perfectly this morning, and I swear, if you make me cry and ruin it, I'm going to kick your ass."

"Yeah, because this weekend is all about you," Sam deadpanned. He swiped a piece of toast from her plate, smirking. "Sorry, princess."

She glared without any real malice, lightly punching him in the arm. "It's still amazing to me another woman puts up with you. Someone that isn't bound by blood to keep you around."

"Well, she _will_ be bound by law in the next 24 hours." Grinning, he pointed to the clock. "Aren't you supposed to be meeting Will and the girls for an early lunch?"

"Mm, yes. I was just finishing up these placecards." She popped the last piece of toast in her mouth, reaching for a pen. "Oh, and I have to pick up a headband for Abby before I meet them. Thank you, forethought; I am _so_ glad we brought two cars this time."

"I'll leave you to it, then."

She shook her head. "No, I'm done with the cards. I'm headed out now." Standing, she wiped her hands on a napkin and made another notation in her planner. "I'll see you later, okay?"

He nodded, reaching for the coffeepot.

"Don't drink too much of that," she instructed. "You'll be jittery. More so than you are now."

"It's gonna take more than two cups of coffee to get me jittery, Sare."

"Regardless," she replied, arching an eyebrow. "Heed your elders." Softening her gaze, she leaned over his chair and squeezed his shoulders. "I _am_ happy for you, you know. She's a doll. She really is."

He smiled, his tone light when he spoke. "She has her moments."

Sarah nodded, turning away before stopping short, glancing at him. "Hey, one more thing-" she began quietly.

Her tone of voice gave him pause, and he met her gaze as she slowly sank back into her chair.

"I'm proud of you, Sam. Of the man you've become. And I know Mom would be, too."

His throat tightened, and he swallowed thickly, nodding.

"You mean the world to me," she continued softly, her voice catching. "I don't know… I don't know what I would have done without you. I don't tell you that enough, and I sure as hell am not going to say it tomorrow in a room full of your colleagues, but…"

She exhaled slowly, placing her hand over his. "Will and the girls are my life, my heart, and I'm so blessed. But I remember those days when it was just you and me. And you are the best brother a girl could ask for, Sam. The very best."

She stared at him with wet eyes, holding his gaze. "I love you. And I love Andy for making you so happy." Loosening her grip on his hand, she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"I love you, too, Sare," he murmured, straightening and pulling her close.

They stood silently in the kitchen, the moment only broken when Sarah's phone _pinged_ with an incoming text.

"Now that I've officially ruined all of my makeup," Sarah laughed to herself, wiping at her eyes, "Time to go meet the public." She gave him a quick, watery grin, squeezing his arm as she left the kitchen.

He heard her in the hall, searching for her purse. A moment later, the front door opened.

Mustering a commanding voice, she yelled over her shoulder, "Now go call Ollie and tell him to pick up your sorry butt. Find something to do for the next few hours."

He padded into the front hallway, squinting at her. "What?"

She stared at him, one hand on her hip, and spoke slowly. "Go to a sports bar, have a few beers, kill some time so you're not frantically pacing around here before the rehearsal."

"I don't pace frantically."

"Yeah, and this is my natural hair color." Her smile was bright and gone in a flash. "Don't be an idiot, Sam."

* * *

><p>"So, uh – Is this where you offer your little pearls of wisdom?"<p>

Pocketing his keys, Sam scrutinized the scene before him, an amused expression on his face. The warm spring air lit Oliver almost comically, the sun enveloping the table despite the umbrella overhead. The restaurant's outdoor patio – host to a cluster of metal-back dining chairs –was largely empty.

Oliver lounged idly on such a chair, sipping his beer and studying the 'lunch specials' insert in the menu. At Sam's question, he glanced up through dark sunglasses.

"Oh, c'mon," Oliver scoffed. Nodding to the seat in front of him, he motioned for Sam to sit down and signaled the waiter. "You know my advice has greater market value than a pearl."

"Right, right," Sam drawled, cocking a brow and taking a seat.

Sliding a beer in Sam's direction – one of two that sat before him – Oliver returned his gaze to the menu. "Besides, you can't always rely on friends' advice. A lot of this stuff you're going to have to figure out on your own." He fixed Sam with a serious expression, the barest trace of amusement on his lips. "You're a big boy, Sammy, it's time to emerge from the cocoon and _fly_."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "I'm all grown up. By the way, since when do we go out to restaurants together?"

"Since I'm hungry, that's when," Oliver replied easily, stretching his arms. "And I'm not bringing you to your wedding rehearsal on the wrong side of buzzed, so food with drinks seemed like a good idea."

"You know, in an ever-changing world, it's nice to know there are some constants." Taking a long pull of his beer, Sam relaxed into his seat. "You being hungry, for starters."

"You being a jackass, to follow immediately," Oliver countered, yawning. "But I promised to keep my mouth in check today, so I'll stop there."

"Zoe put you up to that?" Sam queried, the corner of his mouth tugging.

"Hah," Oliver grumbled, more for show than actual sentiment. "Just you wait until you've been married as long as I have, brother. There's not a lot you won't do to keep your wife happy."

"I bet," Sam replied with a carefree grin. "And, uh, tell me: Do I get to start pulling these relationship sensei cards when I'm married?"

Oliver gave him the once-over, raising his eyebrows in silent challenge. "Laugh it up, buddy. Just know, I'm not above sticking you with this tab. You may be headed to the altar, but I have three extra dependents."

"Right." Sam smirked, drumming his fingers on the table. He set his jaw, aware of its natural proclivity to relax today.

"How you feeling?" Oliver asked. Not waiting for an answer, he charged ahead. "You're smiling too damn much."

"You and Sarah been conference calling?" Sam inquired, thumbing through the menu. "She's been after me for that, too."

"No, no. It's good, brother. Your ugly mug can use all the help it can get." Oliver glanced at his watch, nodding toward the street. "We may as well get this out now, because I'll be damned if I'm gonna get sentimental in front of Jerry. He's due any minute."

"Who said anything about getting sentimental?"

"Your face did. Brighter than the CN Tower on a holiday."

"Yeah, well," Sam hedged, taking a particular interest in the hot sandwiches and trying to look absorbed in the side options.

Oliver studied him silently, finally issuing a single, sharp nod. "Andy? She's a great girl. She's matured into a damn fine copper, but more than that, she's a good person. And she, uh – She brings out a good side of you. I'm happy for you, buddy. You deserve this. You both do."

Sam cleared his throat, fiddling with the coaster in front of him before flicking his gaze to Oliver. "Thanks, man."

"Yeah, yeah." Oliver shrugged, swirling his own beer. "Just remember that tomorrow. You know, when I'm heckling the shit out of you during my toast." He grinned, rocking back on his chair. "I've been waiting sixteen years to exact some payback. Wasn't sure I'd ever get the chance, actually."

Sam let out a bark of laughter. "That seems to be a running theme today."

"When do you have to be back?"

"Probably two-three hours. Need to get a few things in order; need time to change."

"Huh. Well, McNally likes your rough and tumble appearance. If she went after you when you were undercover, she's gotta have some weakness for the disheveled look…"

"Yeah, well. On her own, Andy might let it slide, but I'm facing off against a triple-threat today: my bride-to-be, my stickler of a sister, and your fine wife."

"Well, then." Oliver raised his beer in silent salute. "Better get this show on the road. Bottoms up."

* * *

><p>Fixing her hair – more a force of habit than actual nerves – Andy smiled at the reflection in the mirror. Smoothing the skirt of her dress, she looked to Traci, who was propped against the headboard in Andy's hotel room, reading a magazine.<p>

"Ready?"

Traci looked up, dropping the magazine on the nightstand. "I think that's a question for you, silly."

"I'm ready," Andy said confidently. Her shoulders relaxed, and she beamed. "I am."

Sweeping a hand across her dress and tugging a loose thread, Traci smiled benignly. "You _are_ ready, aren't you?"

Andy bobbed her head. "I know it's only been two nights since I've seen Sam, but honestly, it feels like _ages_."

"Well," Traci said, her voice calm and reassuring. "Your hair looks fab. I'm glad you didn't let me touch it. Loose curls were definitely the way to go."

She fingered a tress lightly, stepping back to admire the picture. "You look like _you_, and _Sam…_" she said, drawing out his name, "Is gonna go _crazy_."

"Let's hope so," Andy said, touching up her lipstick and reaching for her clutch. "Sarah's gonna meet us in the lobby and take us to the gardens."

Spinning on her heel, she squealed quietly, throwing her arms around Traci. "Let's do this."

* * *

><p>Elsewhere, Sam stood in front of the mirror, tilting his jaw to the right and the left. Satisfied that he hadn't missed a spot shaving, he dropping his hands to his side, exhaling slowly. Fumbling for the light switch, he exited the bathroom.<p>

"Ready, man?" Will asked, reaching for his keys.

"Been ready for a long time," Sam answered dryly, the honesty implicit. "Too long, I think."

"Yeah," Will said. "Yeah, I get that."

He paused, musing over his words. "They're the ones worth waiting for, though... The girls that take a little longer to let you in. They make you fight for them, but you know what?" He smiled briefly, looking down at his left hand. "They'll fight for you, too."

Straightening, he clapped a hand to Sam's back. "Anyway, if I know my wife, the ladies are going to want to make an entrance, so we better hit the road. We're supposed to be waiting on _them_."

"Yeah," Sam replied, the corners of his mouth pulling. "Yeah, I get _that_. It's been a waiting game since the very beginning."

* * *

><p>Andy saw him from a distance, illuminated by the soft, colored lanterns bobbing in the breeze. Silently thanking Sarah for her suggestion to wear ballet flats, she made her way across the soft grass. The earth, slightly dampened by yesterday's rain, gave way under her feet, and she met his eyes as she approached.<p>

"Hi," she said coyly, trying to conceal a smile and failing miserably.

"Hi." His eyes skimmed over her, and he reached for her waist, pulling her toward him. "I missed you."

"Hmm," she intoned, a hint of mischief in her eyes. Tilting her head to the trellis, she held Sam's gaze. "You say that now because it's only been a few nights. Do me a favor: Remember that ten years from now, ok?"

"You look beautiful," he murmured in her ear.

She released her grip on his shoulders, swaying back and forth. The pleats of her halter dress twirled, and she propped a hand on her hip, smiling brightly. "Well, I know you can't resist me in navy, so the choice was easy."

"Besides," she continued, stepping forward to adjust his tie, "You look very handsome."

He hummed noncommitally, trailing his hands down her bare arms. "Thanks."

"You didn't have to wear one of these, you know," she continued in a low voice, tugging his tie. She met his gaze, biting her lip. "Tomorrow, definitely, but you could have passed on it tonight – I wouldn't have minded. I know you hate how restricting they are."

"Funny you say that," Sam said, his eyes twinkling and his voice decidedly casual. "My opinions have changed in the last few years. Things I used to think were restricting? Not so anymore."

"Huh," she commented nonchalantly, reaching for his hand. "Interesting how that happens."

"Isn't it, though?" Sam said with a smirk, threading her fingers through his.

"Uncle Sam-MY!" Abby cried, interrupting their reverie and tearing across the grass. "Look, look!"

"Hey little miss," he replied, briefly dropping Andy's hand and scooping her up. "Let me check out those fingers. I hear somebody took a trip to the salon."

"They're pink," she said, thrusting her hand out. "Andy told me I could get sparkles, too."

"Did she?" He glanced up at Andy, a grin on his face. "She sure knows how to pick 'em, doesn't she?"

"Yup," Abby replied, nodding her head emphatically. "She sure does," she echoed.

"You ready to do your job?" Sam prompted.

Abby nodded solemnly, clasping her hands together.

He quirked an eyebrow, staring at Andy. "You ready to do yours?"

Her gazed softened, and she nodded slowly. "Serve, protect, and say _I do_."

He leaned over, gently setting Abby on the ground. Unable to tear his eyes from Andy's face, he reached for her hand blindly. "Yeah? And what kind of copper taught you that?"

She winked, flashing a bright smile before pushing him toward the flowered trellis. "I had a pretty good training officer."

* * *

><p>A half-hour later as the sun began to set, they broke away from the group. Sam followed in Andy's wake, his hand wrapped firmly around her palm.<p>

Happy to let their friends and family mingle before leaving for dinner, they wandered the gardens silently, their steps echoing on the paved walkways.

"Next time we do this? It'll be totally different. I'll be your _wife_," she said in a hushed tone, her voice laced with amusement and the barest hint of awe.

Drawing her to him, Sam traced her jaw lightly and stared into her eyes. He swallowed, simply content to look for a long moment. "Yeah, I guess the clock resets, right? Tomorrow everything is a new first. First kiss as a married couple, first dance…"

"First holiday, first fight…" she interjected, leaning her head against his shoulder.

He straightened, grinning against her temple. "Yeah, that'll probably happen sooner rather than later, huh?" Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close. "New adventure for us, McNally."

She tilted her head up to catch his eye. "We're nothing if not thrill-seekers." She smiled, reaching a hand to smooth his hair. "So, uh. You gonna keep calling me _McNally_?"

His lips twitched. "You gonna keep running around with a sharp tongue and a lion's heart?"

She pretend to think about it for a moment. "Yeah, probably."

"Well, then," he said easily, sweeping her hair aside and lowering his lips to her neck. "Yeah, probably."

Moving slowly, she laced their fingers together and rested them over her heart. "A lot of firsts to look forward to…"

Raising his head, he nudged her nose and gently traced her ring with his finger.

"First day of the rest of our lives..."

* * *

><p><strong>I've enabled anonymous reviews for the first time (ever) and I hope that if you have been following this story from the shadows, you are encouraged to leave a line or two. I'd love to hear your thoughts! As always, thank you for reading. - AB<strong>


	18. Chapter 18

**The Patently Long Author's Note: **It's been a long-time coming, readers. It seems every time I attempt to dictate a writing schedule, real life gets in the way. The delay was due in part to family on-goings (now resolved) and was complicated by the widespread login problems of the site itself. Sadly, maintenance issues are equally as annoying for writers as they are for readers. Thanks for your patience during this interim!

**About This Chapter:**

Much like the previous chapters, each of these "firsts" can read as a separate episode, but with a greater story arc. Be forewarned, the term "epilogue" may be deceiving: This chapter in its entirety is **three times** my usual length, yikes. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy (maybe find a comfortable chair?).

The following scenarios can follow whatever timeline you so choose.

Finally... If artistic license has given my anything, it's a justification for putting Sam Swarek into every conceivably cheesy, delightfully fluffy, wedded bliss scenario. Sorry about that. (Or, more aptly: Sorry I'm not sorry.)

**A notable debt of gratitude is owed to **dcj** for her words of encouragement and inspiration. Thanks!**

DISCLAIMER: Eighteen chapters later, I still do not own _Rookie Blue. _(Appropriate credit due to Rory Gilmore, from whom I borrowed the line, "You jump, I jump...")

* * *

><p><strong>EPILOGUE.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>First kiss.<strong>

"My dad's watching," she said through clenched teeth. "Don't forget that, alright?"

"Really? Because I was intent on scarring my nieces for life. Some tongue action, maybe some light groping," Sam teased, gently squeezing her hand.

"Shhh," she shushed him, fighting back a smile. "We're supposed to be paying attention. This is _our_ wedding, genius."

"Good thing I remembered to show up," Sam ribbed, tilting his mouth toward her ear. "The most important part is over, anyway. You're stuck with me."

"Stuck?" she mouthed, quirking an eyebrow.

He nodded, a wide smirk on his face. "Stuck."

They were interrupted by a loud voice, his amusement barely concealed. "You may now kiss your bride."

Leaning in, Sam whispered, "Well, I guess that's that."

She smiled, wrapping a hand around his neck and tugging him forward. "Good thing I don't want to go back."

* * *

><p><strong>First dance.<strong>

"Hey," he greeted, leaning heavily against the doorframe of the hotel's private lounge. His hands in his pockets, he eyed her with an affectionate grin on his face.

"Hey," she echoed softly, a giddy smile on her face. "Trace is just helping me…" She motioned to the back of her dress, waving at the soft yards of fabric and fussing with her veil nervously.

Removing the pin caught between her teeth, Traci bustled Andy's train, smoothing the fabric neatly. Winking at her best friend, she squeezed Sam's arm and silently slid past him, out the door.

"Not sick of me yet?" Andy prompted, carefully sitting on the settee and adjusting her dress.

"Give it time," Sam teased, crossing the room and dropping on the sofa next to her. "So how long 'tll I have you all to myself? No receiving lines, no grand entrances, no cheers and catcalls from Fifteen's Finest?"

"Not soon enough," she said with a grin, threading their fingers together. "They should be calling us to enter the reception soon. Cocktail hour's almost over."

He nodded silently. "I'm glad you wore your hair down," he said quietly, thumbing her cheek and brushing a few loose strands behind her ear. "Looks nice."

She smiled, closing her eyes and resting against his shoulder.

"Tired?" he asked, stifling a yawn himself.

"Yes," she admitted readily. "Excited, obviously. But I wouldn't mind if it was just me and you now, you know?"

"Mmm," he murmured in solidarity, agreeing. "I know what you mean." He turned his head to look at her. "Hey, uh. Wanna do something for me?"

"I'm not taking off this dress, Sam," she said, her eyes still shut but a grin on her lips.

"Not _that_," he replied, rolling his eyes. He nudged her with his shoulder. "Not _yet_, anyway."

"Then what?" she said, opening her eyes and meeting his gaze.

"Okay, you know what we said about the first dance?"

She grimaced, running a finger over his wedding band. "You mean when you decided to be a stick in the mud and wouldn't do a spotlight dance?"

"Hey, an all-couples dance is the clear winner," he maintained, shrugging his shoulders. "You really wanted to be the center of attention for four-plus minutes on a dance floor? I don't think so."

"It's tradition," she whined, wrinkling her nose. "Tradition is _important_."

He stared at her, his eyes dark and inscrutable. After a long moment, he spoke, dismissing her petulant tone. "You're right. You're important, too," he offered casually.

She smiled reluctantly, the corners of her mouth tugging. "Flattery will get you _everywhere_."

Sam stood, pulling her up and releasing her hand. Digging in his jacket pocket, he pulled out an iPod and popped it into the dock Traci had set up moments before on a sidetable.

"I changed my mind," he said. "_Minutely_, I should add, so don't get your hopes up."

The soft strains of music filtered through the speakers and Sam turned toward her, offering his hand.

"Marriage is about compromise, right? You're getting your dance, and I'm… Well, uh, I'm saving face," he admitted, an amused grin twisting his lips.

"You _planned_ this," she said, half-accusingly, half-admiringly.

"Maybe," he hedged, fiddling with the volume. "You in?"

She narrowed her eyes, assessing his posture. "Yeah." Standing, she laced their left hands together, sliding an arm around his shoulders. "Yeah, I think I am."

"Good," he murmured with an approving nod. Trailing his hand over the bare skin of her shoulder, he let his palm rest on her lower back.

They were silent as they swayed together, keeping time to the music until the beat changed. Humming quietly in her ear, Sam spun Andy out and back in with a quick flick of his wrist.

Andy grinned into his shoulder, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. "You're an old romantic, aren't you?"

"Nope, just old," he replied easily, his eyes dancing as he pulled her closer.

"You sure this isn't an assault on your ears?" she asked. "Doesn't sound like progressive rock to me."

"I'm getting a little more progressive with my tastes," he said, shrugging. "Just don't tell anyone."

She grinned, silently crossing her heart and zipping her lips.

After a long moment, he stepped back, releasing her. "You ready to go face the crowds?"

"Yes," she affirmed, threading her fingers through his hair. " Just one thing I have to do first..."

Pushing up on her toes, she brought her lips to his, kissing him deeply. Her movements were slow and languid – warm, soft and unhurried. After several long moments, she broke away with a grin, murmuring against his ear, "Time you got a proper kiss, anyway."

He lowered his lips to her bare shoulder, biting playfully. "If that's a precursor of what's to come, I'll take it."

Smiling brightly, Andy tugged him toward the door. "So, uh. Is today the day you admit the universe had a plan?"

He shrugged. "I don't know who's responsible for all this, but when you figure it out, send 'em a gift basket with my name on it, will ya?"

"Sure," she said with a wink, gripping his hand tightly. "Only because it'll have my name, too."

* * *

><p><strong>First embarrassment.<strong>

"So this one," Oliver cackled, slapping Sam on the back, "is glowering in my backseat, fit to kill or – I don't know, maybe worse. He _was_ on the streets for eight months." He has one hand on the mic, another on a tumbler of scotch.

"And _this_ one," Oliver jerked a thumb in Andy's direction, "This one's beaming like she took home the blue ribbon in the elementary science fair." He guffawed loudly. "How do you catch a fleeing criminal? Hypothesis: Hit him low and hard, force the knees to buckle. Conclusion: Hey kids – It works."

He shook his head affectionately. "Rook doesn't even have her radio switched on, but she's dragging two grown adult males to the cruiser, cuffed together. Unbelievable."

He tipped his glass in Sam's direction. "You thought one afternoon of being cuffed by this girl was bad, Sammy-boy, now you're shackled for life."

"That's nice, Oliver," Andy said, making a show of rolling her eyes. "Real nice."

"And you, McNally," Oliver continued squeezing her shoulder with his free hand. "Well, we're all glad you came to your senses, settled down with a nice boy like our Sammy here."

"We have a quota for moping at the barn, and he hit it – When do you think, brother? Third, fourth week after she burned you?"

Sam shrugged noncommittally, wrapping a hand behind Andy's chair.

"Anyway," Oliver said, forging ahead, "We all knew this coupling was inevitable. Only took about four near-crises, a dozen forced silences, some painfully public fights, and a stint at the firing range to get here. The copper's life, folks." He paused meaningfully, looking at Sam. "She's got a license to carry a gun, you remember that, brother."

He cleared his throat, waving his arms dramatically. "We all thought Sammy was saving himself for Jerry, but I guess they had another thing coming with this rookie class. I'll be honest, the teacher/student thing is a little prosaic for my taste." He shrugged. "Zoe and I are old-fashioned that way, but Sammy here? He's living proof – You don't really know a woman 'til you've seen her knee a perp and fire a semi."

He grinned widely, his teeth gleaming. "John sweep didn't hurt, did it Sammy? Drooling like a puppy over this gal, but trying to mask it underneath cool professionalism, that's our Swarek."

"Oh, god," Andy muttered, covering her face with her hands. "He couldn't be _a little bit_ nice today? Everyone we know is in this room."

"The more embarrassed you get, the more fuel you're gonna give him," Sam said, setting his jaw and staring straight ahead. "This is Oliver's way of showing his love, I promise."

"But night after night, he offered her a ride home. Sammy's persistent – Ever the martyr, ever the tragic hero." Oliver grinned, lowering the mic for a second. "Bet you wished you accepted that ride a long time ago, eh, McNally?"

"What kind of toast did you give at his wedding?" Andy whispered admonishingly, her cheeks burning. "The only reason he's not getting more graphic is because there are kids here."

"Yeah, be grateful for that," Sam muttered.

"But I jest; I jest. I love these two like my own – Family is family, and that's what these two are to me. Fine coppers, fine friends, and a fine-looking couple, don't you agree?" He paused, allowing the crowd to cheer. "Well, Andy's half of the pairing, anyway."

He waited for the din to die down before raising his glass. "I guess it's true what they say: Love knocks you down. And if you don't wind up hating the person that bowled you over, you're bound to love 'em, right?"

"To Sam and Andy. May their years be blessed with health and happiness, and may they serve each other as faithfully as they've served the streets of Toronto." He saluted them with a grin, but not before adding some choice, parting words.

"And for the love of God, may your kids take after Andy in looks and temperament."

* * *

><p><strong>First morning together.<strong>

"Mm," Andy said, stretching languidly and burrowing underneath the covers. She smiled against her pillow, stifling a giggle and squeezing her eyes shut.

A warm, rough hand skimmed over her thigh and wrapped around her waist. She opened her eyes slowly, sliding her left hand on top of his. Lacing their fingers together, she brushed her thumb over his knuckles, humming happily.

"Good morning," Sam murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep. "How you feelin'?"

"Exhausted," she answered honestly, "In the most delicious way possible." She flipped over, running a hand across his whiskery cheek. "Also, it's possible that my limbs won't be entirely functional this morning, but I'm okay with that."

"That right?" Sam queried, grinning. "You must've had a hell of a workout last night."

"Marriage will do that to you," she said. She stretched again, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "It's possible my spouse may be _partially_ responsible."

His eyes flickered to her face, and his smile grew. Moving fluidly, he rolled on top of her, balancing on his forearms as he stared into her eyes.

"Hey," he greeted softly.

"Hey," she repeated, running her hands up and down his bare chest.

"So, uh. We're _married_ now," he said, choking out a laugh.

"Yeah," she said, shaking her head. "You're like… _my husband_," she said in a stage-whisper. "Bizarre."

"Is it?" he replied with a grin. "Because it's been on my 'normal' list for a while now."

She trailed her knuckles over his vertebrae, rubbing up and down in a familiar, soothing pattern. "I'm happy," she finally said, quiet and subdued. Biting her lip, she raised her eyes to meet his. "Like really, insanely happy, Sam."

He nodded silently, working a hand through her tousled hair and tugging gently.

"If every morning is as good as this one, I'll die a very happy woman," she said, a serene look on her face. "If I would've known it was like this, I probably would've married you a _long_ time ago."

"That so?" he said quietly, pressing his lips to her throat. "Consider the bar set, then. You know how competitive I am; I'll be itching to break that record."

"Well, count me in," she added, giggling as she ran a hand through his hair. "I'll be an active and _very_ willing participant."

He nuzzled her nose, brushing her lips with his own. "Good." Grazing his mouth over her ear, he nibbled at the tender skin and spoke quietly. "Your time starts… _NOW_."

* * *

><p><strong>First vacation.<strong>

"_Ohmigod_, why haven't we done this before?" Andy said, dropping into a lounge chair and flipping her sunglasses over her eyes. "Smell the air, Sam. Fresh and salty and _perfect_. I love the beach." She inhaled sharply, curling her toes in the sand. "Seriously, how have we _not_ done this before?"

"You got me," Sam answered, his gaze fixed on her tiny white swimsuit. "I've been asking myself that all day."

Andy grinned, leaning over her armrest to tap Sam's chin playfully. "Careful there, dearest, you've got a little _something_…" She broke off, stifling a laugh.

"Dearest?" Sam said, raising his eyebrows infinitesimally. "That's what you're going with?"

"Well," she said teasingly, shrugging, "You have an affinity for _sweetheart_; it's only fair I get something, too."

He hummed noncommittally, snapping his towel at her as he settled into his own lounger.

"But seriously," she said, scooting out of the towel's arc. "Why _haven't_ we done this before?"

"Honestly?" Sam said, reaching for his beer. "Because we're devoted civil servants who collectively get paid very little. The free time we do have, we usually spend being homebodies, enjoying takeout and each other, or visiting our families within reasonable driving distance."

"That was almost poetic, Swarek," she laughed, kicking his chair. "Thanks for that visual." She popped up from her chair, moving toward him and straddling his waist. "You have a way with words," she said seriously, her small grin belying her words. "I can't believe you didn't write your own vows."

"You asked," he said by way of defense, running his hands over the back of her legs. "I just answered."

She smiled, rolling off him and snuggling into his side. "I'm glad our honeymoon is our first, real get-away-from-Toronto kind of trip, you know? Makes it special, I think."

He ran a hand through her hair, mussing it affectionately. "Yeah, I think so."

"I could lay out in this sun all day," she said, running a hand over his bare chest. "You want to? I mean, technically it's our time, we can do whatever."

"Depends," Sam said, his brow creased. He tugged at the strings of her bikini bottom. "Do I get to reapply the sunscreen?"

He smiled, anticipating Andy's eye roll. "I'm kidding." Sighing, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, before adding, "Well. Mostly."

She laughed freely, linking their fingers. "I am going to need some help with my back, so... I'll give you the green light, _dearest_. I'm on cloud nine today."

* * *

><p><strong>First introduction.<strong>

Slipping into the bar unnoticed, Andy scanned the room for Sam. Spotting him on her second pass of the bar, she stealthily approached from behind, crooking an arm around his neck. Her free arm slid around his body, resting on his abdomen, as she nipped at his ear.

"Hey there, stranger," she greeted. "Long time, no see."

Sam sucked in a breath, swirling the beer in his hand without turning. "Sorry, ma'am. I'm a married man now. My wife would not approve of this licentious behavior."

"That right?" Andy questioned, her teeth grazing his jaw.

"That's right," he confirmed, his tone lively as he tilted his head towards her. "She's got a gun. You don't want to mess with her, I promise."

"I can hold my own," Andy maintained, resting her chin on his shoulder. "But thanks for the warning, copper."

"How was your massage?" he asked, breaking character and signaling the bartender.

"Amazing," she sighed, plopping into a seat.

"Yeah? I still think I could have done that for you."

"I know exactly what you _could have done_, and trust me, that was not it," she said with a laugh. "How was your beer?"

"Excellent," he said, sliding a drink her way. "Little lonely. Glad to have company now."

"This is much classier than our first bar/inn rendezvous, I'll give you that," she said with a smile, catching his train of thought. "I'm glad we traded the pool table for a hotel pool... I fared a lot better today."

"I'd say so," he teased, rubbing her shoulders. "Anyway, late dinner reservations tonight, so you wanna order something now to tide you over?"

"_Reservations_?" Andy questioned with a sly arch of her brow, pretending to be impressed. "Is that a _thing_ we do now?"

"Part of the package deal," Sam said with a grin. "You know, marriage. Tax breaks. Legal weight, property rights, dinner reservations; it's all in the fine print."

"Who knew?" Andy replied, flipping through the bar menu. She looked up at him, her eyes full of mirth. "Guess we've both been missing out."

They had been at the bar for nearly an hour when a voice greeted Sam, loud and booming.

"Swarek?" the voice questioned. "Sam Swarek? That you?"

"Jacobsen?" Sam returned, swiveling his stool. "It's been a long time, brother," he greeted, his tone jovial. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Destination wedding, if you can believe it," he said, clapping a hand to Sam's back. "My sister-in-law is getting hitched on the beach this weekend."

"Small world," Sam said, whistling through his teeth. "Small world."

"And who's your friend?" Jacobsen asked, nodding warmly at Andy.

Sam shook his head, snapping out of his reverie. "Sorry, Andy - Sweetheart, this is Paul Jacobsen. We went to Academy together; Toronto was just his gateway to RCMP. Paul, this is my wife, Andy."

"Wife? You don't say," Paul said, a touch of incredulity in his voice. "Pleasure to meet you, Andy," he added, doffing an imaginary cap. "Never thought I'd see the day when this rogue copper settled down."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said good-naturedly, slapping him on the back. "First time for everything, brother. The sun still sets in the west."

Paul motioned to the bartender, ordering another round before sliding onto a barstool. Turning to Andy, he gave her the once-over. "So tell me, Andy, how'd a pretty thing like you get saddled with this Lone Ranger?"

"Hey, even the Lone Ranger had Tonto," Sam interjected. "Everybody's got a friend somewhere."

"Is that what I am?" Andy said with a teasing smile, leaning into the arm Sam had draped across her chair. "Nice, Sam." She turned to Paul, explaining, "I mean, we weren't friends at the beginning. I may have, uh, burned him." Her cheeks flushed lightly, and she forced a shrug. "_While_ he was in deep cover."

Paul let out a bark of laughter. "So there's a good story here, huh?"

"I was a rookie," she said, wrinkling her nose. "It was my first day, if that helps."

He guffawed, his shoulders shaking in amusement. "There _is_ a story, I can feel it." Tipping his beer toward Sam, he pointed at his watch. "Well lucky for you, I've got some time while my wife hits the salon. I can sniff out newlyweds like fresh paint, and I'm itching for a good story, coppers."

Two hours, a detailed backstory of their relationship, and a very colorful recap of Sam's time in the Academy later, Andy and Sam bid Paul a good night, opting to wander down to the beach.

"That's the first time…" Andy broke off, beaming. "I mean, it sounds silly, but that's like… The first "official" time you've called me your wife. _To another person_," she said in a hushed whisper. She traced patterns on his palm as they sat, shoulder-to-shoulder on the dock, watching the sun set. "It's nice, you know? The permanence of it all."

"Hey, I'm ready to shout it from the rooftops," he said, his light tone belying the seriousness of his words. "You want a blimp, some sky-writing, you just let me know."

"I like it," she concluded, thumbing his jaw tenderly. Throwing her legs across his lap, she leaned against his shoulder. "I like it a lot, actually."

* * *

><p><strong>First homecoming.<strong>

"Sure this isn't too antiquated for you?" Andy questioned, fussing with their suitcases as Sam fumbled for his keys.

Sliding the key into the lock, Sam rolled his eyes in the door's direction. "Aren't you the one always preaching a sermon about the importance of traditions?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right." She paused, smiling brilliantly. "You sure your back can take it?"

"You never let up, do you?" he asked gruffly, spinning on his heel. Threading his fingers through her belt loops, he gripped her waist, resting his forehead against hers. "We gotta do something about that, wife."

"You secretly like it," she insisted, thumbing at his jaw. "Besides, everyone knows I married you for your body."

He snorted, releasing her. "Yeah, okay." Unlocking the front door, he stepped inside, dropping their bags in the foyer before returning to the porch stoop.

"I'm just kidding," she stage-whispered, threading her fingers through his hair. "I married you for your money first, _then_ your body."

"Right, right," he drawled. Sliding one hand behind her back, he bent forward, scooping her up by her knees and cradling her to his chest.

She clasped her hands around his neck, giggling and burying her face in his shoulder. Attempting to regain her composure, she swallowed, meeting his gaze.

"It's just, uh..." she broke off, succumbing to another fit of giggles. "This position seems remarkably familiar. Have we been here before?"

"Funny," he said dryly, hoisting her up further. "We're not in a crappy cover apartment, for starters."

She ran a hand across his jaw, rubbing the light stubble. "Hey, don't knock the place where it all began. Those were some nice digs for an ex-con. And J.D. was a perfect gentleman."

Sam threw back his head, laughing. "Well, I wouldn't call him a _perfect_ gentleman. He bought you one beer before taking you to bed."

"You're right," Andy said with a slight frown. "_Damn_. I should have tried to work him for potstickers or loaded nachos or something."

He brushed his lips against her temple, grinning. "Hey, don't sell yourself short. You're worth at least one shrimp cocktail."

"Is that right?" she said, cocking an eyebrow in silent challenge. She pursued her lips, shrugging. "Well, I'd be inclined to believe you, except…"

"Except…?"

"Your secret's out, Swarek," she sing-songed, waving her left hand. "_I'm worth_ _a ring_."

He grinned broadly, going after her bottom lip. "I can't deny that."

Carefully stepping over the threshold, he carried her into the house and deposited her by the stairs. Kicking the door closed with his boot, he smirked, gauging her response. "That work for you?"

"Not really the same thrill as the first time," she said speculatively, pulling back and frowning. "Ah, well. I guess it's hard to compete with those life-and-death scenarios."

She forced a beleaguered sigh, taking a seat on the stairs. "A week in, and we're already struggling to keep the spark alive."

He cocked an eyebrow, staring solemnly until her façade broke and she grinned. Yanking his t-shirt off, he stalked toward her, a predatory gleam in his eye. "I'll show you spark."

"Is that a threat?" she asked, giggling as she wormed away from him.

Scooping her up, he walked briskly toward their bedroom. "No." Pausing in the doorway, he skimmed his nose across her jaw, nipping at the taut skin. "It's a promise."

* * *

><p><strong>First car.<strong>

"It's automatic."

Sam spun around, his brow furrowed. "I thought that's what you wanted. We can look at manual transmissions…"

"No, silly. It's automatic…" She looked at him, raising a brow and waving her hand. "_Systematic..._ _HYDROmatic_..."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, narrowing his eyes. "You're ridiculous."

She smiled brightly, circling the hood to stand in front of him. "Maybe. So what do you think?"

"I think the price point is ridiculous for a car with 96,000 kilometers on it. And the tires need to be replaced."

"Anything else about Harvey?"

"Harvey Who?"

"No, that's what I want to name him." She grinned at him, jerking her thumb toward the engine. "He's my first car; I have to name him."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Um, _no_ you don't. You're not sixteen. And anyway, everybody knows that cars are always girls."

"Nah, I like Harvey," Andy said with an unrepentant shrug. She wrapped an arm around his waist, eyeing the car speculatively. "He has character. Besides, it's good to have another man in my life. Keeps you on your toes," she pointed out.

Sam shook his head in vague incredulity, amused by her hard sell. "You really like this car?"

"I really do."

He blew out a huff of air, running his hand over the hood. "We've test-driven about a million of them already; I guess… Well, I wouldn't mind selecting one. The safety rating is pretty good, so that bodes well for you."

"I might take offense to that statement if I wasn't so excited," she said, flouncing across the parking lot. "Jabs about my driving or otherwise, I won't let you bring me down."

"Yeah, well, this purchase has been a long time coming. You sure this is your draft pick?"

Andy clapped her hands eagerly, a blinding smiling on her face. "Yessir. You think it's a decent bargain if we can get them to throw in new tires?"

He made a show of sighing dramatically, his thumb hooking through her belt loops and drawing her close. "We can always try. Who am I to deny my wife?"

She winked, pushing up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "That's what I like to hear."

* * *

><p><strong>First team victory.<strong>

"It's days like today I love being a cop, you know that?" Andy said, tipping back on her chair at the Penny. "There's a peace that accompanies closure, and I'm glad we were able to give it to that family."

She paused thoughtfully, glancing at Sam. "It was good to work together again, in close quarters. Like the old days, you know?"

"Hmm," Sam intoned noncommittally. "Let bygones be bygones, as far as I'm concerned." He grinned, resting his arm on her chair and rubbing his knuckles across her lower back. "Future's got far too many interesting prospects."

"You don't miss being partners?" Andy asked, genuinely curious.

"You mean do I miss hunting down escaped convicts and potential werewolves and charging through incinerated laundromats?" He shook his head. "No, can't say I miss _that_."

She ignored his jabs, picking at the label of her beer bottle. "I miss it sometimes," she said wistfully. "Not my stupid, rookie mistakes, but the thrill of the chase, you know?"

"Thrill of the chase, huh? What chase would that be?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Back then, you and I were chasing two different things."

"Shut up," she laughed, punching him lightly in the arm. "I miss _us_, Swarek and McNally in the field... You jump, I jump, Jack."

"Is that how you remember it? Because I'm pretty sure it reads: Andy disregards instruction and gets herself in a bind; Sam swoops in to save the day."

"Right, right," she drawled, raising her eyebrow in silent challenge. "You walked out of Hill's restaurant and the Landry op all by yourself, I forgot."

He barked out a laugh, earning several quizzical looks from the new batch of rookies at the next table.

"I'm kidding," he admitted with a tiny grin. "I do miss it, you know."

"_I know_," she said sassily. "I'm pretty miss-able."

"Peters is a pain in my ass," he muttered softly, bottle to his lips. "Peck's caustic bite with Epstein's gung-ho attitude, I swear. It's this weird hybrid, what a nightmare." He set his bottle down, waving his hand in silent acknowledgment of Oliver's _'Darts!_' rally cry.

Squeezing past Andy's chair, he flipped her ponytail. "What I wouldn't do for my old rook..."

She grinned, nudging him in Oliver's direction. "Yeah, there's not much you wouldn't do for your old rookie, huh?"

He shrugged, his lips twitching as he leaned in to whisper in her ear, "Good thing we have a solid fallback. Partners in every sense, right?"

* * *

><p><strong>First blizzard.<strong>

"All that work we did," Andy whined. "All that salting and shoveling, and the ground's covered again."

Sam shrugged, guiding her away from the front window. "Less work for tomorrow. Don't want you breaking your back when this stuff freezes."

"Annoying, that's what this is," she said with a pout. Kicking her foot against the carpet, she sighed. "At least we can go out and play in the snow, that's something."

"Snow? That's where your mind is when we have an opportunity like this? Timely, that's what I'd call this storm," he said, his lips trailing down her neck. "We don't have to be back on-shift until Tuesday afternoon, so by my watch, we have just over two days to _do as we please_."

"Do _who_ we please," he continued, working his mouth over her collarbone, light nips and gentle kisses. His voice was a soft murmur against her skin. "_Please who we do_."

His arms tightened around her waist and she felt his grin against her neck.

"Mmm, that could be nice," she agreed, shifting against him. She tilted her chin up to catch his eye, pushing him back toward the kitchen counter. "But you're gonna go stir-crazy if we get snowed in."

"I can think of a few things to pass the time," he said knowingly, sliding the zipper of her hoodie down.

She caught his wrist, squeezing it lightly. "Sometimes you have the humor of a fifteen year old boy."

He shrugged, unperturbed. "Lucky I last a little longer, huh?"

"Oh, god," she said, rolling her eyes and pushing his shoulder. "None of that, please."

He nipped at her lip playfully. "If I hold the jokes, can we move right to the main event? Because baby, it's cold outside."

"_You_…." She grinned indulgently, amused. "That's on the agenda, 'kay? Just not until we've been out in the snow," she insisted, scampering toward the stairs. "I'm getting changed and you should, too."

Grinning, Sam followed her to their room. "You're awfully hot when you're bossy."

"Just when I'm bossy?" she asked, rummaging through their closet before settling on a turtleneck. Discarding her t-shirt in lieu of a camisole, she pulled the turtleneck over her head and pushed her arms through its thick sleeves.

"Mmm. Not just when you're bossy. That turtleneck is _definitely_ doing it for me," he teased, watching her from his perch on the bed. "You're always after me for my old man jeans… I didn't even think they _made_ turtlenecks anymore."

"Desperate times…" she trailed off lightly. "Besides, my Under Armour is in the wash."

"Mine, too," Sam said, pursing his lips and feigning sorrow. Patting the bedspread, he motioned her over. "Come warm me up; I'm fresh out of turtlenecks."

"Nice try, Swarek," she laughed, digging through her drawers for a pair of sweatpants. "We may be married, but I still gotta make you work for it every now and again."

"Is that what this is about? You want me to do all the work? I can do that," he said with a grin. Standing, he pinned her against the dresser. "I'm a team player, I promise."

"_Snow first_," she argued insistently, her tone wheedling. "Then we'll see about _warming up_."

"Bed, snow, bed?" he bartered, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. "I'll make it worth your while. We can build a fort in here," he offered, his tongue swiping over his lips. "I'll even shovel the second round of snow."

"I was gonna make you do that anyway," she teased, sticking out her tongue and scooting from under his arm. "Desperation doesn't suit you. Buck up, copper."

"It's not that I dislike the snow, alright? I'd just rather spend some quality time with my wife on our day off," he countered. "That too much to ask?"

She studied him for a long moment, releasing a huff of air. "Sam Swarek, I swear to god, you're lucky I'm a pushover..."

He grinned triumphantly, bounding after her. "Turtleneck is the first casualty of this blizzard." Grabbing the hem of her shirt, he tugged her arms up. "Nice break from our usual workday routine, right? You gotta admit, this is _way_ better than paperwork."

He smirked, sliding his hands underneath her camisole. "Way better than snow, too."

* * *

><p><strong>First pregnancy.<strong>

Propped against the pillows near the headboard, Andy stared at her bedroom ceiling, listlessly tracing circles and patterns over her abdomen.

_Baby._

She wished Sam were home. She wished she had talked to him as soon as she had begun to suspect.

Rolling her shirt up, she gazed at her belly. It didn't _look_ different. Flat planes and a muscled core. She tried to imagine what it would look like in a few months, swollen and round.

It didn't _look_ different, sure, but it _felt_ different. She didn't know how to explain it, exactly. The knowledge of the life growing inside her, tiny and fragile, this inconceivably concrete expression of her and Sam's love…

_Whoa._

She hadn't studied biology since high school, and her head swam trying to remember all the details. Twenty-three pairs of chromosomes. Half Swarek. Half McNally.

_Baby_, she silently repeated_. We made a baby. And it's here, inside me._

"Hey little guy," she said softly, smoothing a hand over her bare skin. Her brow furrowed, and she bit her lip. "Well, actually I don't know if you're a _guy_ yet. But you could be. A little guy that looks like his daddy." She rubbed gently. "Or you could be a little girl." She paused, a slight frown crossing her face. "_God,_ I hope you get my eyebrows."

Hearing the key in the front door, she sat up abruptly, bounding off the bed.

"Sam?" she called into the darkened hallway.

"Yeah?" he answered, his voice muffled. "Kitchen."

Heading down the stairs, Andy entered the kitchen, sliding onto a barstool. Sam was crouched in front of the fridge, packing vegetables into the crisper. She eyed him carefully, taking a few deep breaths before turning to the countertop.

Digging through the bags that littered the island, she was distracted by a tote bag with a decidedly floral scent.

"Flowers?" she said, startled. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Why'd you get flowers?"

He shrugged. "Someone once told me that sickness is about coaching your body _and_ mind back to health." He smiled, standing up to dig through the cabinets for a vase. "Apparently flowers is step one. If you don't have a pollen allergy, I suppose."

"Speaking of, you feelin' any better?" he asked, his fingers trailing across her waist as he slid past her toward the sink, flipping the faucet on and filling the vase with water.

She bit her lip, reaching for the kitchen scissors to cut off the lower stems of the flowers. "Yeah, uh. Well. There's kind of a story to that, I guess."

"Is that right?" he queried, sliding the vase toward her. "Macking on Diaz during break? I know he was down for the count earlier this week; Ollie swears there's a 48-hour bug going around."

An unbidden smile crossed her lips, and she elbowed him gently. "Yeah, that's _totally_ it."

He reached into the last canvas grocery tote, pulling out a package of gummy bears. "Well, sick or not, I know you love your sugar rush." He flipped the package toward her. "Even got the Black Forest kind, 'cuz I know you're a snob."

She smiled softly, ripping the bag open and popping one into her mouth. "Better than therapy, I swear."

"Good," he said, rolling up the grocery bags and tucking them in the pantry. "So. This story…?"

"Right," she said, her voice a touch hesitant. Closing the package of gummies, she fiddled with her ponytail nervously. "So, um. Remember that blizzard back in January?"

He turned toward her, grinning lasciviously. "Yeah, how could I forget? Never been so happy to see half of Toronto shut down. Two full days of uninterrupted time with my wife."

"Yeah, well." She moved to stand in front of him, giving him a weak, watery smile. Gripping his wrist, she lifted her shirt and brought his palm to her abdomen. "We, uh. We might be a little bit of a cliché."

His brow furrowed as he stared at her belly, before lifting widened eyes to her face. "Are you…? Did we…?"

She nodded slowly, the corners of her lips tugging. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

He looked at her in stunned silence.

Her smile faded infinitesimally, and she worried her lip, gauging his expression. "I was going to wait to take the test, but once I did the math – you know, since that day – and I just… I just had to know, you know? And I didn't want to raise your hopes, but I wanted you to be a part of it and I'm sorry I took the test but we can go to the doctor's together, right? I just don't want you to be mad, like I left you out of something; I swear, I didn't mean to, Sam. Are you mad? God, this is supposed to be a happy thing and I'm already ruining it; I'm so sorry…" she rambled frantically, waving her arms.

"Mad?" he said, his voice hoarse, rough with emotion. "_Mad?_" he repeated to himself, almost incredulously.

He rubbed his jaw, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. "Sweetheart, I'm the _furthest_ thing from mad."

"Really?" she said timidly, wringing her hands.

"Really," he said, a growing smile illuminating his face. "Andy, I… _A baby? _How could I be anything _but _happy?"

She smiled nervously, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he affirmed with a laugh.

She blinked furiously, her shoulders trembling.

"_Andy_…" he exhaled softly, opening his arms. "C'mere."

She stepped forward, burying her face in his shoulder. "It's not, like, too soon for you?" she said in a muffled voice, running her hands across his lower back.

He pulled back, staring at her. "Hey," he said, his voice quiet but strong. "I love every part of you. I have for a long time, and no part of this is 'too soon,' alright? You and me, remember?"

He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. "Well, actually… You, me, and the baby makes three," he said with a chuckle, his voice soft and low in her ear. "I couldn't be happier, Andy, I swear."

She relaxed into his arms, sighing quietly. "Me neither."

They stood in the kitchen for several minutes, enveloped by the stillness within the house, before Andy broke the silence.

"No more hypotheticals, huh? No more, 'When we're parents...'." She looked at him, eyes wide in amazement. "Dude, there is a _baby_ inside of me."

"Crazy, right?" Sam said, his lips twitching. He cocked an eyebrow, shaking his head. "Well, we've got a few more months to prepare for this guy's arrival, _dude_." He slid a hot palm underneath Andy's shirt, rubbing her stomach gently. "Lucky we're a good team. Parenting is all about teamwork, right?"

"Yeah," Andy said with a small grin. "That's one thing we probably _shouldn't_ be competitive about."

"Fair," Sam agreed, lacing their fingers together. He swallowed, his eyes focused on hers. He let out a deep breath of air as he spoke. "Love you, McNally."

"Love you, Swarek," she echoed, her eyes crinkled with happiness. "Wow. Just…_wow_. We should make that doctor's appointment; check everything out…" She trailed off, a grin overtaking her face. "After that, I guess there's just one thing left to decide."

"Yeah?" he prompted teasingly, cradling her head in his palm. "What's that?"

She smiled, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Who's gonna be good cop and who's gonna be bad cop?"

* * *

><p><strong>First freakout.<strong>

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Swarek," the tech said kindly, gliding the ultrasound wand over Andy's exposed stomach. "You're having a baby girl."

Andy gripped Sam's hand tightly, inhaling sharply. "Girl…" she breathed on the exhale, amazed. Turning to Sam, she smiled nervously, her eyes full and wide. "We're having a girl, Sam."

He nodded silently, overwhelmed by emotion that accompanied the news. _A girl…_

He had jokingly (well, _almost_ jokingly) said to Andy that he wouldn't know what to do with a boy. Between the Shaws and his nieces, the only diapers he'd changed had been female, and he wasn't sure how to clean, uh... Well. Boy's parts.

Andy had laughed openly at that statement, whispering in the darkness while they were lying in bed together. "Pretty sure you have those same parts, Sam," she giggled. "You'll figure it out."

After several debates and a heated discussion about learning the baby's sex, Andy's penchant for planning won out. They had waited until her appointment at 26 weeks to find out, which brought them to the present moment.

_A girl_, his mind repeated on loop. _A girl._

There was an upside to this news, sure. His familiarity with the diaper situation, for starters. He could handle changing a girl, and he already had mountains of experience with tying hair bows and buttoning dresses and lacing saddle shoes. He was a seasoned veteran at tea parties and sleepovers and girls-only clubhouses, so upon further reflection, there were some definitive pluses.

But girls were a whole different ball game as they grew up.

_Dates and dances and makeup and boys and periods and pregnancy and_…

Damn.

"I know it's your specialty," Andy said ten minutes later, calling him back to reality as they drove back home. "But let's try not to overthink it, alright?"

He glanced toward the passenger seat, shaking his head dubiously. "How can you be so… eerily calm about this?"

She smiled, her voiced laced with humor. "I already had my '_Am I going to be a bad mother_?' freakout, remember? You issued a much-needed reality check." Her gaze softened, and she rested a hand on his thigh. "A girl. A baby _girl_. It's something to be excited about, Sam."

"I _am_ excited," he said defensively. "I just…" He exhaled, rubbing his face wearily. "I'm overthinking it, I guess."

"It's a little early to be worried about teen pregnancy," Andy said with a sympathetic nod. "I think we've got a few years yet."

He recoiled, shaking his head as a shudder ran through his body. "I wasn't…"

"Don't try to tell me that wasn't going through your head," she said mock-sternly, a smile on her lips. "I can read you like a book, Swarek."

He cleared his throat, resting his forehead on the steering wheel as they pulled onto their street.

"We're gonna be okay," Andy said confidently. "You and me, remember?" She gave a lopsided grin, squeezing his knee. "Even if you're one of those crazy dads who doesn't let his daughter date until she's twenty-five."

"Hey, I am not going to issue some archaic rule like that," Sam said, raising his hands in surrender as he cut the engine and popped the door open.

"Oh, yeah?" Andy questioned, arching an eyebrow. Sliding from her seat, she circled the hood of his truck and met him on the driver's side.

"Course not," Sam said. He shifted on his feet, reaching out to graze his knuckles over her stomach. "When the time comes, we're gonna handpick her husband, and they can date _after_ they get married."

"Oh, brilliant," Andy deadpanned, her tone wry. "Maybe if we're lucky, Dov will have a kid soon."

At Sam's horrified expression, she burst out laughing, one hand clutching her stomach as the other flew to her mouth. Her attempts to stifle her giggles were less than successful.

"I'm teasing," she finally managed to get out, her eyes dancing. "Although I wouldn't mind if Traci has another boy. Leo's a little too old…" She trailed off, laughing. "But then again, who knows? If Leo becomes a cop, maybe even a _training officer_, by the time this _one_," she pointed at her stomach, giggling, "Graduates from Academy, there might be a legacy to fulfill at Fifteen. Girls take after their mothers, right?"

"You're a nut," Sam said darkly, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You're too easy to rile up, Swarek," Andy countered, her tone light as she poked him in the ribs. "Look at it this way: We can start shopping for specific things. Outfits, bedding, maybe a few toys… It's nice to know the gender, and that way we can plan ahead." She took a breath, laying a comforting hand on his chest. "This is good news, I promise."

He nodded silently, covering her hand with his own.

She spun on her heel, gently dragging him up the walkway to their porch. "Although I refuse to paint the nursery pink, so don't get any ideas. I'm partial to that soft, mint green, and I'm not changing my mind," she called over her shoulder. "Got it?"

He smiled begrudgingly, stopping short on the porch. "Got it."

As Andy moved to unlock the front door, he stared at her, unblinking. Swallowing against the lump of emotion building in his throat, he reached for her waist.

"A girl," he said softly, subdued wonder in his voice.

"A girl," Andy repeated softly, a smile enveloping her face as she turned toward him.

"I bet she'll be real pretty like her mom," Sam said casually, brushing Andy's hair behind her shoulder.

"I bet she'll have a terrible sense of humor but some really cute dimples," Andy replied with a quick grin, "Just like her dad."

"This is probably the first of many subsequent freakouts," he admitted, running a hand through his hair anxiously.

"As long as we take turns being the crazy parent, how about that?" Andy offered, pulling him inside the house with a gentle smile.

"Deal," he said, exhaling. He met her eyes, his voice sure and sincere. "Deal."

* * *

><p><strong>First remodel.<strong>

"How you doing, hotshot?" he said, bracing an arm against the door and passing her a water bottle.

"Good," she said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Her hair, knotted on the top of her head, drooped with the force of her movements, slowly unraveling. "Starting to get somewhere, I think," she said breathlessly.

He swept his gaze over the room. "Hard to believe this was a guest room a few weeks ago. Looks good."

"Yeah," she said with a relieved laugh. "I think it does. That's more than can be said for me, anyway." Dropping her brush, she wiped excess paint on her coveralls. "Whenever you see a woman painting in those home décor magazines, she has these cute, face-framing tendrils of hair, artfully arranged to look messy. I just have the straight-up, sweaty mess."

He pulled her chin up for a kiss. "Good thing I don't mind you sweaty."

She curled a hand around his jaw, leaving behind a mint green imprint of her forefingers. "Thanks, hon."

His lips curved into a smile as he pulled back. "Hon?" he parroted.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm testing it out. Still haven't found a name I'm sold on."

"Just _Sam_ is fine," he said, his mouth twisted in amusement. "I'll answer to it; I promise."

She waved her hands airily. "Nah, one of these days I'll make a decision. By our twenty-fifth anniversary, definitely."

He shook his head, looping his fingers through her belt loops as he stood behind her, eyeballing the trim. Leaning forward, he rested his chin on her shoulder. "Walls look nice. I'm glad you went with green."

"Well, you couldn't live with pink walls in your house, could you?" she teased with a smirk. "She took a sip of her water, capping the bottle tightly. "Thanks for all the work you did up here last night; I never did get a chance to compliment your work."

"I didn't do much," he said, dismissing her praise. "Just glad we're getting somewhere with this nursery business."

"Yeah, well _I'm glad_ tools are your self-professed area of expertise. I'll stick with my paints and primers, maybe pound a nail or two and hang a picture." She squinted against the bright light streaming through the window. "I've got the eye, you know."

"Yeah, that's what I've heard," he said, his tone laced with amusement.

She grinned, tilting her head to look up at him. "What do you think of the stencils?"

"I think this little girl is lucky her mom is so crafty," he said, tapping lightly on her belly. "Andy, they look great; they really do."

"Think she'll like them?" she asked, relaxing into Sam's chest.

"She'll love them," he reassured her, tracing the stenciled pattern on the wall. "And you know what I love? That we're remodeling, and not moving an entire house."

"Helps to have a planner in the family, doesn't it, Swarek?"

"You got me there." He smiled into her shoulder. "Hey, uh – I'm glad we've made this our place, you know? I didn't want it to just be my house that you moved into. I wanted it to be _ours. _Our home."

"Watch yourself, Swarek," she teased. "You don't want me falling back on some hokey line like_, You're home for me, Sam_." She giggled, scrunching her nose. "You never know what'll come out of my mouth with these hormones."

"That's where you're wrong," he said with a grin, spinning her around. "I never know what'll come out of your mouth, period."

* * *

><p><strong>First bout of jealousy.<strong>

"I can't believe the nerve of that girl."

"Andy, sweetheart. She's a waitress. It's her job. She's paid to be attentive and friendly."

"Yeah, and you know who else gets paid to be attentive and friendly? _Whores_," Andy snapped.

"Andy…" Sam began soothingly, tossing his keys on the counter and reaching for her.

She shook off his outstretched hand. "No, she just _had_ to fawn over you. Simpering and giggling and thrusting her chest in your face every time she refilled the water glasses. Never mind my _presence_, or my _ring_, or my _belly_, stretched and swollen with YOUR CHILD inside."

"Sweetheart…"

"She was _blonde_," Andy spat out, her words dripping with venom. "Blonde and busty and _perfect_. She probably rescues puppies and reads to the elderly and volunteers at soup kitchens on the weekends."

"Andy…" Sam interrupted.

"Don't tell me you didn't check out her ass," Andy continued, waving her arms hysterically. "She had a great ass; there's no way you didn't notice, I can't even-"

"Andy," Sam repeated patiently, quietly. "That has to be one of the most ridiculous statements you have ever made."

"Meanwhile, I have to play the good little wife. Desk duty isn't enough, cut off from all the action? All day I'm stuck at the barn, as BIG as a barn, while you're out there, catching the bad guys." Her voice raised in pitch, and she threw her arms in exasperation. "I'm sure you'll have lots of great stories for Little-Miss-Perfect, because if you want _action_, look no further. I'm sure she's dreaming of all the sexy things she can do to you, right now."

"ANDY!" Sam interjected gruffly, startling her into silence.

She looked at him, blinking furiously, hands on her hips.

"Hey," he said softly, lowering his voice and edging toward her. "I don't have a passing thought for that girl, alright?"

"Yeah, _right_," Andy sniffled, wiping at her eyes.

"You know what?" he prompted quietly, moving to stand behind her, sweeping her hair off her back. He dragged his mouth across the column of her neck, planting hot kisses and nipping the smooth, tanned skin. He grinned into her neck before lowering his lips to her collarbone.

"This?" He swept a warm hand across her belly, rubbing in gentle circles. His left hand gripped her hip, and he pulled her closer. "Sexiest thing I've ever seen."

She leaned into him, grumbling softly. "Don't feed me a line, Sam; I swear..."

"It's not a line," he said firmly. Catching her arm, he turned her body to face him. Running a hand across her jaw, he tilted her chin up with a brush of his knuckle. "Hey, look at me."

"It's _not_ a line," he repeated softly. "_Fourteen years_ on the force before you came onto the scene. Fourteen years, and you were the only distraction." His lips twitched, and he ran a hand across her shoulder, down her arm, trailing to her stomach. "You ruined me for all other women, McNally."

She crossed her arms, pouting, but he could sense her annoyance was slowly dissipating.

"I only have eyes for my wife," he added lightly. "Hot cop with a gun. Can't ask for more than that."

She grumbled again, a low, raspy noise in her throat. Sam smiled at her reaction, recognizing its form – More for show than actual sentiment.

"That waitress?" Sam continued, wrapping his arms around her. "Bet she couldn't handle a gun, or run a sub-six mile, or tackle a perp after chasing him for eight blocks on foot."

A begrudging smile appeared on Andy's face, even as she fought to conceal it. "I can't run a sub-six anymore."

He smiled, wide and genuine, as he thumbed her bottom lip. "I think you get a pass when you've got another human being in tow."

Sam's eyes were alight with mischief when he spoke again. "Would it make you feel better if I told you I stiffed her on the tip?"

Her brow furrowed and her eyes widened, large and brown. "Really?"

"Really," Sam confirmed, resting a warm palm on her stomach.

Andy pulled back, running a hand through her hair. "But, I mean… Waitresses make, like, nothing. I worked part-time during college and I hated those assholes who stiffed. They're usually the most demanding tables, acting all entitled and..."

Sam broke in, shaking his head and biting back a smile. "Suddenly you're concerned about her well-being…?"

Andy bit her lip, her forehead creased in worry. "Well, maybe she really relies on those tips, you know? I did in college."

He nodded minutely, skimming a hand across her jaw and tugging on her ear. "And usually I agree with you – stiffing a waitress is unacceptable. But, uh. Maybe she shouldn't flirt with a married man. Especially when that man pointedly turns down her advances," he said reasonably, shrugging his shoulders.

Andy nodded, a bit forlorn. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right."

"I meant what I said, you know," he murmured in her ear. "You're really sexy like this."

She smiled half-heartedly, her body sagging as she leaned against him heavily. "I'm sorry. God, I'm such a cliché. I told myself I wasn't going to be like this; I wasn't going to be one of those crazy pregnant wives."

"You're not any crazier than you were to begin with." Sam grinned easily. "I married you. I knew what I was getting myself into."

She pouted, wrinkling her nose as she rested her head on his chest. "Don't tease me. I'm probably going to cry."

He slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close with a hidden smile. "Well, we can't have that."

"I'm huge," she said, cupping her stomach. "My hormones are wacked out, and I'm tired." She looked at Sam through heavy lashes, her shoulders slumping. "I'm so tired, Sam."

"I know," he said, stroking her hair. "You're a champ, you know that? You're allowed to have bad days; god knows you've been patient about everything else. I know desk duty isn't easy. You're making a huge sacrifice, and I love you for it."

She nodded into his chest, sighing. "It's a sacrifice I _want_ to make," she explained. "I know I complain, but, like… I wouldn't change the circumstances, you know? I'm excited for this baby, and a couple months of desk duty isn't gonna change that." She exhaled deeply. "Sometimes it's just… _a lot_. But it's worth it. It _is_," she finished firmly.

"I don't deserve you," he said lightly, his eyes boring into hers.

"I'm pretty sure I'm the one that just threw the hissy fit, Sam," Andy replied with a groan, rolling her eyes and shoving his shoulder. "I hope you deserve more than irrational hormones."

He hid a grin, eyeing her speculatively. "Every part of you," he asserted, "Remember?"

"Remember…?"

"I love every part of you," he clarified. "Good thing we're both a little irrational."

* * *

><p><strong>First babyproofing venture.<strong>

"Damn it!" Sam's voice echoed through the house, and Andy heard the loud, solid _thunk_ of what she presumed to be a boot, slamming against the kitchen cabinetry. "I can't open this _motherfu_-"

"Hey!" she interjected loudly, dropping her magazine and standing, balancing with the help of the couch's cushioned armrest. Placing one hand on her lower back, she shuffled to the doorway of the kitchen. "We said we were going to work on the language thing."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, slowly unfurling his clenched fist. "Andy, the baby's not even here yet."

"We have to practice." Andy stared at him reproachfully, placing her hands on her belly as if she were soundproofing it. "And she can hear you from the womb, dumbass."

"How is dumbass any better than…?" He sighed, dropping his head and rolling his neck. "You know what? Forget it."

"I can show you how to open it," she said gently, sliding an arm around his waist. "Move over."

Crouching, she lowered herself into a seated position on the floor. "See? You just pinch these two sides at the same time, and slide the lock over the plastic teeth. It's really easy; you just have to get the hang of it."

"You gonna explain to me why we need to babyproof this thing," – he leaned against the countertop, motioning to the recently unsealed cabinet – "Five weeks before she gets here?"

Andy stifled the desire to roll her eyes. Instead, she spoke carefully and quietly. "We have to get used to locking up dangerous things, Sam. There's dishwashing detergent and Lysol and cleaning supplies under there. All of those are poisonous to small, inquisitive fingers."

He shook his head. "Even if she were here, it would be months before she could even _attempt_ to get into one of those cabinets. It's not like we're sticking her in a crib full of toxins and telling her to _have at 'em_, Andy."

"It can't hurt to be prepared," Andy argued, folding her arms over her chest as she felt her temper rise.

He shook his head in disbelief, reaching for the detergent and filling the dishwasher. "Yeah, okay."

"I just want to be _in the habit_," she said crossly, stretching her legs in front of her. "I'm just trying to be a good mother; you don't have to be all _grumpy_ because of it."

"You're more prepared for this then you think you are," he mumbled when he had locked the dishwasher door, sliding onto the floor next to her. Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry; I'm not trying to be short with you…"

"Your baiting would suggest otherwise," she said, feeling petulant. Eyeing him speculatively, Andy took a deep breath. "You wanna tell me what's got you in this mood? Because last time I checked, I'm supposed to be the hormonal one."

Annoyed that his tension from work had propelled him into this argument, Sam sighed heavily, staring at his hands. When he spoke, the fire had gone from his voice.

"Shitty day on patrol. Bad case, bad day, and I... I just worry sometimes, okay?" He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck wearily. "It's not an excuse, but I'm still pissed about it, and I..." He swallowed, studying his hands. "I'm sorry."

Andy nodded silently, watching him. "You wanna talk about it?"

He stared at the wall before nodding in assent. "Later, alright?"

Her gaze softened as she took in the circles around Sam's eyes. "Okay." She scooted across the floor, reaching for his hand. "You're allowed to be annoyed, you know. We don't have the easiest job in the world, I know that. You don't have to walk on eggshells around me just because I'm pregnant."

"That right?" he said thoughtfully, tangling his legs with hers. He gave her the barest hint of a smile, eyeing her from his peripheral. "That's, uh, good to know."

"Hey," she said quietly, seriously. "I mean that. I just don't want you to shut me out, okay?"

"I know." Scuffing his foot against the tile floor, he nodded toward the cabinet. "Babyproofing is a good idea; I didn't mean to knock it earlier."

She raised her eyebrows skeptically. "Is that what you actually think, or is that what you're going to say to placate your pregnant wife?"

"What's that?" he replied quickly, ignoring her question and cupping a hand to his ear. "Did I mention I love you recently?"

"Not recently, but you _do_ have this pattern… You always get a little sentimental when you're trying to cover your tracks, _so…_" She shrugged, her eyes dancing. "You dig your hole well; you just have to learn that it takes a lot to fill it."

His shoulder relaxed, and he smirked at her comment. "Never had a problem filling it, sweetheart," he said with a wink.

She wrinkled her nose at him, aiming a kick at his ankle. "That was bad, even for you."

He heaved himself off the floor, straightening. "Well, how 'bout I make it up to you?"

"I might let you do that," she said breezily. "What exactly do you propose?"

"Mmm," he mused, pensive. "Back rub? Tepid bath?" He extended a hand toward her, offering to help her off the floor. "One of those makeout sessions you've been so fond of in recent weeks? You can pick which base we get to," he teased.

She adopted a stoic face in the wake of his enthusiasm, folding her arms across her chest. "You're probably going to need a crane to get me off the floor, you know that, right?"

Sliding an arm around her back, he hefted her to her feet, bringing them nose to nose.

"Richer, poorer, sickness, health, even if you need a crane," he murmured. "You're stuck with me, wife."

She pushed her hair behind her ears, pointedly avoiding his gaze. "You really like calling me that, don't you?"

"Yeah," he said solemnly, his eyes dark and serious. He skimmed his hands over her body, eventually twisting their left hands together. "Yeah, I really do."

She felt the corners of her mouth pull, but she suppressed the smile, studying his eyes. "You sure you want to wait 'til later to talk?"

He nodded minutely. "Yeah," he said squeezing her hip. "Yeah, I'm sure. Thanks."

She sighed softly, releasing the breath caught in her lungs. "Okay."

Stepping back, she reached for hand. "Back rub it is."

"Yeah?" he prompted, his lips twitching suspiciously as he followed her down the hall.

"Yeah," she confirmed, an unbidden smile appearing. "And then maybe some making out; we'll play it by ear."

* * *

><p><strong>First lullaby.<strong>

Dropping his keys on the small table in the foyer, he shrugged off his coat and poked his head into the kitchen. "Andy?" he called, his gaze roving the room.

Furrowing his brow, he circled the living room before heading upstairs, wondering if she had succumbed to her recent trend of late-afternoon catnaps. Rubbing his jaw, he smiled to himself, silently devising the best way to wake her up.

The sight that greeted him at their bedroom door stopped him short.

He watched Andy from the doorway in quiet wonder. Oblivious to his presence, she cupped her stomach and sang quietly, rubbing the taut, bronzed skin with gentle fingers. Closing her eyes, she swiped her thumb across the expanse of her belly, a small smile on her face.

"Are you singing to the baby?" Sam asked several minutes later, his words carrying softly across the room.

Andy glanced up in surprise, eyes wide. "Hey. I, uh – I didn't think you were home yet."

"Got off early," he said, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes roamed the room, settling on the hands that clasped her stomach tightly. He quirked an eyebrow. "So, you sing here often?"

"Maybe," she hedged, fussing with the duvet. She pursued her lips, suppressing a smile. "I want her mother's voice to be familiar, okay?"

Sam grinned warmly, pushing off the doorframe and walking inside. "No, I get it."

Andy studied him closely, trying to gauge if he was teasing her. "Don't think I haven't heard you talking to her, those early mornings when you think I'm still asleep."

"You hear that?" Sam said, taking a seat on the bed next to her.

"Yeah," she said, her chagrin fading. "It's cute. I, uh… I like it. I think she does, too."

He nodded thoughtfully, running a hand over her belly. "I like it, too."

She rested her hand on top of his, gently stroking his thumb. "You can talk to her now," she offered. "Um, if you want to, I mean. Mum's the word on my end." She twisted her hands, averting her gaze.

He chewed his bottom lip for a long moment before rolling onto his stomach, lifting her shirt up. Lowering his lips to her stomach, he spoke softly. "Hey there, baby. You, uh… You got a pretty great mama, you know that? I bet… I bet you're gonna be a stunner like her."

He paused, leaning back for effect. "Your mom's a planner, you know? It'd be great for all of us if you arrived on time," he continued. "Don't make us wait too long, alright?"

He pressed his lips to her warm skin, grinning. "It's hard to peg if you're gonna be more Swarek or McNally…" he trailed off. "But, uh. Listen: No time and space, got it? We want you hear as soon as possible." Tugging the hem of her shirt down, he smoothed the fabric. He raised his eyes to Andy's, his lips twitching. "We're good on the father-daughter chats for now, I think."

She nodded quietly, her lips carrying the barest trace of amusement.

"Sam?" she said a moment later, a note of anxiety in her voice. "We're ready for this, right?"

He flopped onto the bed, propping his hands underneath his head. "I don't know if anyone ever feels _ready_," he answered honestly. "But I know there's no else I'd rather have with me." He turned on his side, locking eyes with her. "No one."

She nodded almost imperceptibly. "Yeah."

"No, I mean it," Sam said, his tone even but thick with implication. "We've talked about this before, Andy. It's different with you; it's always been different with you." He ran a hand down her side, gliding over her t-shirt and sweatpants. "Whatever we're doing, we're doing it together, okay? We back each other up."

"Partners?" she offered timidly, a small smile on her lips.

"Partners," he affirmed. "Whatever you need to get off your chest..." He let his words dangle, sensing the tirade of emotions swirling in the air.

"I'm terrified," she finally admitted with a shaky laugh, breathing deeply.

He reached for her hand, exhaling as he gripped her wrist. Catching her eye, he flashed a brief, roguish smile. "Me too. But I guess... I guess that's what makes it fun."

* * *

><p><strong>First birth.<strong>

"I was this close to having you cut off my bangs," Andy admitted, spreading her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "Nothing was helping; not the bobby pins or the headband or anything. I needed them off my forehead, like, _yesterday_, and I was getting desperate."

Sam pressed a kiss to her temple, grinning. "You did good, sweetheart, _so good_."

"I swear, every stupid freakin' sitcom on TV makes it seem like your water breaks and you're popping out the kid twenty minutes later." She grimaced, shutting her eyes. "Nobody ever says twenty-three hours."

"Yeah," Sam said, laughing. "I think the whole labor and delivery squad got that memo when you yelled, '_I am not making a day of it_.'" He slid an arm around her shoulders. "Good thing she's cute, huh?"

"The cutest," Andy echoed, sighing. "She's perfect, Sam. I mean, I guess every parent _thinks_ that, but I'm not even being biased, you know? That is one gorgeous baby."

"Yeah," he said, smiling softly. "She really is."

"I'm not sure I have this peaceful, motherly aura surrounding me, though." Andy clucked her tongue impatiently, fussing with her hospital robe. "I think I was too sassy in the recovery room."

"I'd respectfully disagree," Sam said teasingly. "You were spirited. It's in your nature."

"Yeah?" Andy prompted. "You think it will be in _her _nature, too?"

"Definitely," Sam confirmed, yawning. "I hear obstinacy is genetic on the mother's side."

"Good thing she has such an even-keeled father, huh? No temper in sight," Andy said wryly.

She snuggled Maeve closer, fixing her tiny, striped pink cap. "We did a pretty good job, don't you think?"

He traced the baby's fingers gently, a smile on his lips. "Solid effort. I think that's a dimple, right there," he said, pointing to her cheek. "Sarah will be proud."

"You should call her," Andy suggesting, stifling a yawn and burrowing into his shoulder.

"I texted a while ago; I'll call in a bit," he said. "I want to spend some time with my girls first."

She smiled, gingerly passing Maeve to him. "Hold her, will you? I'm gonna close my eyes for just a minute."

"Gladly," Sam said, accepting the tiny bundle. He leaned in, brushing his lips across Andy's forehead. "I don't care what you say; you definitely have that glow," he murmured.

"It's funny, right? You think you know what love is, and this…" Her eyelids fluttered. "This just blows all your notions out of the water."

"It's different," Sam conceded, eyes flickering between Maeve and Andy. "But I think I won on all counts."

* * *

><p><strong>First sleepless night.<strong>

Andy sighed, muffling a groan against the smooth cotton pillowcase. "Seriously. _Seriously. _If I were a baby, I would sleep all the time. Why doesn't she get that memo?"

Sam rubbed his face wearily. "I got more sleep when I was undercover, playing a strung-out addict." He turned on his side, looking at her through bleary eyes. "I'm not kidding."

Andy _hmm_-ed noncommittally, tangling her legs with his. "Who's turn?" she yawned, shifting.

"Mine." He heaved himself off the mattress, cursing softly and running a hand through his hair.

"Language," Andy mumbled, shutting her eyes and curling into a ball. "Bring her in here, okay?"

"No, I'll just leave her in the bassinet, crying," he mumbled irritably. "C'mon, Andy."

Too tired to roll her eyes, Andy burrowed into the pillow, silently bargaining with the universe for some much-needed shut eye.

"I honestly thought it would get better," Sam said from the doorway, cradling Maeve in one arm and rubbing his jaw. "I mean, that first night home I heard every creak and shudder in this goddamn house, but she slept so well. I thought we lucked out with an easy baby, a baby that wanted to sleep and eat all the time."

"She's a good-natured baby," Andy protested, reaching for her. "She's just a strange breed of night owl, I think." She yawned, slipping her top off. "Besides, we've never been the 'easy' couple, have we? Makes sense that our kid has her own stubborn streak."

"Yeah," Sam huffed. "Stubborn in spades."

Sighing, Andy leaned against his shoulder, adjusting her grip on Maeve. "At least you can drink coffee," she mumbled. "What I wouldn't do for a steaming cup of dark roast…" she paused wistfully, shaking herself. "But we'd just be exacerbating this problem," she said, motioning to the baby. "Keeping her up at all hours, not just the nighttime ones."

He closed his eyes briefly, his arm tightening around her waist. "Good thing she's cute, huh?"

"Yeah," Andy said, her words swallowed by another large yawn. "Good thing."

* * *

><p><strong>First playdate.<strong>

"Man, look at those curls," Oliver said, gesturing to Maeve. "They're cute at that age, brother, there's no denying."

The baby was lying on her stomach underneath a free-standing mobile, laughing at the antics of Oliver's youngest. Liv, who was enamored with Maeve, alternately clapped her hands and hid behind a throw pillow, playing peek-a-boo.

"You ever think about more?" Sam asked offhandedly, his eyes following the girls' movements.

"Looks like Liv would sure love that, huh?" Oliver said, shaking his head. He shrugged. "You know my rule, brother. Whatever the wife wants, the wife gets."

"Why do you ask?" he said, popping a cookie in his mouth. "You thinking...?"

"We've got our hands full with this one," Sam said simply, gazing at Maeve with an affectionate grin. "But... I don't know, another one might be nice down the road." He was silent for a moment before coughing, clearing his throat. His voice was laced with the signature Swarek cockiness when he spoke again. "Can't let these genes go to waste, you know what I mean?"

"Hah," Oliver choked out through bites of his sugar cookie. "If you say so."

He swallowed, washing down the cookie with a sip of water.

They were quiet for several minutes, content to watch the girls play.

"It's nice, though, huh?" he prompted, avoiding Sam's eyes. "This dad thing?"

"Yeah," Sam echoed, his voice rough. "Really nice."

* * *

><p><strong>First separation.<strong>

"I miss her," Andy said softly, staring at the ceiling. "What's it been, like four hours? And I'm already a wreck." She pinched the bridge of her nose, glancing at her watch. "Sam, how am I gonna last overnight? Or a whole shift away from her?"

"I think this was supposed to be the practice round," Sam said patiently, his hands sweeping over the bedspread. They were both fully clothed, laying on top of the bed, a champagne bottle - three-quarters full - sitting on the neighboring nightstand. "She's in good hands, sweetheart."

Andy bit her lip, swallowing thickly. "I just... If we were together, even mundane errands would be nice, you know? I _like_ when she comes to the grocery store or the dry cleaners or for walks around the park."

"I know," Sam said, sliding an arm around her shoulders. "You'll still have time for that; you and I can work out a schedule, okay?"

"What if she doesn't sleep through the night?" Andy said, reaching into her pocket for her phone. "What if Sarah has problems?"

Sam's hand shot toward her wrist and slowed her movements. "Sarah has both of our cell numbers, and we're five miles away, Andy. She can call if she needs to, and we can get home if we need to." He released his grip on her wrist slowly. "She's done this before, you know. _Twice_."

"I know," Andy said miserably, pouting. "She's an angel for offering, I _know_ that." She sighed, rolling onto her side to look at Sam. She bit her lip, sorrowful. "I'm sorry for being a fun sponge on our anniversary."

"You're not a fun sponge," Sam said charitably, running a hand down her side. "You miss Maeve. It's okay, I miss her, too."

"I just... It's gonna be so hard to go back to work, away from my baby for so long. What if she doesn't like daycare?" she asked worriedly.

"It'll get easier," he promised. "And she's not going to be there around the clock, okay? Don't worry."

"But what if _we_ don't like this set-up?"

"Then worry." He grinned, stretching his arms. "I'm kidding. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. We have other options, you know? Fewer hours, different shifts...Frank will understand; he has a kid." He threaded his hand through her hair. "We'll make it work."

"Think Sarah would consider moving to Toronto?" Andy asked, half-seriously. "Abby's in school now..."

Sam chuckled, flopping onto the pillow. "She probably would, if you asked her. Sarah loves 'em at this age." His smile widened. "Our kid would be spoiled rotten, though. And our nieces might miss their mom."

"They could come too," Andy protested weakly. "We have some great schools here; we'll buy a house with a couple different stories and divide the levels by family." She broke off, closing her mouth when she saw Sam's teasing smirk. "What? It could work," she added defensively.

"We'll be okay," he said calmly, brushing his lips across her temple. "She'll be okay, too. She's a very good-natured baby. Rolls with the punches," he added with a wink. "Although if I had to guess, she didn't get that from her mother."

"_Saaam_," Andy whined, draping an arm over her eyes dramatically. "C'mon."

"This is how people do 'normal,' McNally. We're just have to figure out what works for us." He ran his tongue over his teeth, eyeing his wife slumped on the bed. After a moment's hesitation, he reached into his jeans pocket, pulling out his cell.

"If I give you this..." he said with a grin, "Two minutes. Two minutes on the phone with Sarah, and that's it, okay?"

Andy popped up from the bed, new life breathed into her. "Yes!" She reached for the phone eagerly. "Two minutes."

* * *

><p><strong>First word.<strong>

"Sam? You seen my badge?" she called down, her footsteps thundering down the stairs. "I'm supposed to swing by HQ this morning."

"Nope, sorry," he said from his seat at the breakfast table, glancing over the morning paper. Next to him, Maeve bounced in her swing, clapping her hands eagerly.

"No? No badge anywhere?" She let out a frustrated sigh. "I can't go without my badge, Sam; I _need_ my badge."

"Badd."

At that, Andy stopped short, her eyes whipping to Maeve. "What did she just say?"

"I don't know," Sam said bewilderedly, his forehead creased in concentration. "Maeve, honey…" he prompted, running a hand through her dark hair.

"BADD," the baby repeated emphatically, banging her fist on the tray of the swing.

"I think she just tried to say badge, Sam," Andy whispered. "That was badge, right? I mean, she's missing a few consonants, but…" She trailed off, crouching in front of the swing. "Good girl. Oh, my good, smart girl… Look at you, sweetie!"

Sam shook himself from his reverie. "She's been babbling for a while, but I'm almost sure…" He paused abruptly, his expression changing as a slow grin overtook his face. "Actually… You know, uh… That word _could have_ been badge, but it also could be construed as 'dad,' if you think about it."

"She did _not_ say dad," Andy said, straightening. "That was definitely not _dad_."

"You sure about that?" Sam prodded, shrugging his shoulders. "Because that sounds like _jealousy_ talking, not mommy."

"I'm not jealous," Andy stated, flouncing across the room. "How could I be jealous? She didn't say _dad_." She huffed out a breath, pouring herself a glass of orange juice. "I think I know my own daughter, Sam."

He grinned behind his mug of coffee. "I'm just saying, it _could'v_e been dad."

"Well, you're wrong," she said calming, ripping her bagel into small pieces. "She wasn't even looking at you when she said it." Squaring her shoulders, Andy tossed her hair behind her. "I thought we weren't gonna be competitive about parenting, anyway."

"Who's being competitive?" Sam queried. "I'm simply stating the facts."

"It wasn't _dad_," Andy said firmly, tossing the rest of her bagel in the trash with a scowl.

"Fine, fine," Sam said, throwing his hands up in mock-surrender. "It wasn't dad."

Andy nodded sharply, glancing at her watch. "I have to go, anyway. Guess this means I'm going without my badge." She wrinkled her nose, sighing heavily. "Hope it won't be an issue."

"Badd," Maeve repeated, clapping.

"That's right, honey," Andy cooed, pressing a swift kiss to Maeve's head. "_Badge_." She shook her head, laughing. "Our kid's first word _would_ be badge."

Turning on her heel, Andy kissed the top of Sam's head. "Love you," she murmured, before adding, "Don't even let that thought cross your mind. It absolutely wasn't _dad_."

"It wasn't dad," Sam echoed in a defeated tone. He waited until Andy was out the door, the key turned in the lock, before he lifted Maeve from her seat and spoke again.

"Doesn't mean we can't practice, does it, Miss Maeve? DA-add. DA-add. _Dad_."

* * *

><p><strong>First steps.<strong>

"C'mon, sweetie," Andy coached from the living room floor. "You can do it, pretty girl."

Sam surveyed in judgment, pointing to her chubby legs. "I don't know; she looks a little shaky. Does it still count?"

"Sam," Andy drawled, letting out a huff of air. "Of course it counts. We're not issuing a field sobriety test."

"So serious, wife," Sam said, a grin tugging at his lips. "Can we maybe not project our competitive natures on our kid? Not yet, anyway."

"Hey, I had to listen to Traci brag about how quickly Lucy learned to walk _for weeks_. If Maeve can learn faster, more power to her."

"She'll walk when she's ready," Sam replied, unflappable as ever. "Don't you think?"

Andy frowned, rocking back on her heels. "Yeah," she conceded finally, exhaling. "I guess you're right. We don't want to rush her if she's not ready."

"I mean, I wouldn't _mind_ if our kid beat Jerry's," Sam added, his eyes alight with mischief. "But it's not _necessary_."

She wrinkled her nose at him, tossing her hair bossily. "Don't deny it, Swarek, you want this as bad as I do."

"I do," he maintained with a grin. "I'm just decidedly less vocal about it."

The past few weeks had been an exercise in patience for both parent and child. Maeve had successfully pulled herself upright, holding onto various pieces of furniture to move about the room, but she had yet to take any steps without assistance from inanimate objects or her parents' steadying hands.

"Come to Mommy, sweetie," Andy prompted gently, her arms wide open. "Let go of that couch cushion and just _steppppppp_..."

"Sam," she said, waving her arm at him. "Get the camera; this is gonna be the day, I can feel it."

"That's what you've said the last three times, Andy," Sam said, barely suppressing an eye roll, hefting himself off the couch.

"I know what I said, Sam; I just think-" she stopped abruptly, her mouth a soundless 'O.' Grabbing Sam's sleeve as he walked by her, she squeezed his arm, whispering, "_Sam_."

He spun on his heel in time to see Maeve release the couch cushion, balancing on her feet. With her arms outstretched, she took three small, shaky steps.

"Sam -"

"I see, I see," he murmured, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Maeve swayed on the fourth step, pushing her butt backwards as she landed in a seated position with a dramatic _oomph_. She didn't cry, she just looked around, bewildered and blinking furiously.

"Oh, sweetie," Andy squealed, bending forward to scoop her up. "What a brave girl." Peppering Maeve's cheeks with kisses, Andy held her close, tickling her gently.

She walked over to Sam with Maeve on her hip, the light in her eyes dancing. "Sam." She bit her lip excitedly, a smile threatening to burst onto her face. "She did it. She really did it."

"I saw," he said, his voice laced with pride as he skimmed a hand over Maeve's head. "She's a go-getter, this one."

"You wanna get the camera? See if she'll do it again?"

He nodded, his smile wide and bright. "Sure thing. Right after I text Jerry."

* * *

><p><strong>First revelation.<strong>

Closing the front door behind her, Andy kicked off her shoes and hung her jacket on the hook by the door. Her ears perked up at the sound of a faucet turning off upstairs, and discarding the stack of mail on the desk in the foyer, she climbed the stairs quietly to investigate.

As she rounded the corner upstairs, she was greeted with the sight of her husband bent over the tub, giving their daughter her nightly bath.

Andy leaned against the doorjamb, silently watching as Sam hummed a tune to Maeve, splashing her legs with a washcloth and tickling her tummy. One hand held her steady in the tub, while the other reached blindly for a towel on the countertop. Gingerly cradling her, he dried her off, swinging the hood of the towel over her head.

Andy's eyes followed the muscular planes of his back, lifting and moving until Maeve was a compact, terrycloth bundle against his bare chest. Maeve's wide brown eyes peeked over his shoulder, and Andy found herself waving at the baby, a soft smile on her lips.

Maeve's enthusiastic greeting – _Mama!_ – disrupted his reverie, and Sam swung around, breaking off mid-hum.

"Hey, you," he said, startled by Andy's appearance. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Andy said slyly, her grin becoming more pronounced, then, "Watching." Pushing off the doorframe, she straightened.

He chuckled, bouncing Maeve lightly, and leaned in to kiss her hello. "See something you like?"

"You caught me." She grinned. "And now I need to un-see it, before my eyes send a message to my ovaries and I jump you later tonight."

He ducked around her, pinching her hip. "You won't hear me complaining."

She laughed knowingly, pleased. "Somehow, I didn't think I would," she said.

"You're home early," he commented, padding back to Maeve's nursery, Andy in his wake.

"That's because I keep up with my paperwork; I don't pawn it off on some poor rookie," she replied airily. "You should try it sometime."

"What's the point of having a rookie, then?" he said with a grin. "Free secretarial work."

She popped the drawer of Maeve's dresser open, fishing out a pair of pajamas while Sam changed her into an overnight diaper. They worked in tandem, silently, each pausing to smile at the baby and coo a few words.

When she was bundled for bed, Sam laid Maeve in the crib with a bottle, touching her head gently as he pulled away. With a quick flash of his teeth, he rested a hand on the small of Andy's back, guiding her into the hallway so he could quietly close the door. When they were out of earshot, he whispered, "Does that mean we can have dinner together?"

"Done and done," Andy said with a quiet sigh. "I'm starved. And it would be great to talk to you. I feel like we haven't _really_ talked in ages."

An hour later, plates and glasses carefully arranged in the dishwasher, Sam and Andy took a seat on the living room couch. Their conversation began with outlining their days, turning eventually to the topic of parenthood.

"I really love being a mom," Andy said quietly, her dark hair splayed across Sam's lap as she lay curled on the couch. "It's not easy... But at the end of the day, it's the most important thing to me. More important than being a cop, even." She ran a hand over Sam's knee, her breathing even and quiet. "I didn't think anything was more important to me than being a good cop, but this? This is a game changer," she answered honestly.

"It suits you," he said candidly. "Motherhood, it suits you. Probably has something to do with that lion's heart." He cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. "You're the happiest, the most natural I've ever seen you, when you're with her."

"I guess..." she paused, shifting in Sam's lap and meeting his eyes. "I guess our pasts don't really define us, not if we don't let them. We learn from them, and make the best of it, and..." she trailed off, her words hanging. Threading her fingers through his, she squeezed his palm. "I should thank _you_. I never thought I could be a good mother until I met you, Sam. Until we got together, and you... I don't know, you had faith in me."

"Me?" Sam said with a low laugh. "I think you're giving me too much credit, Andy."

"I'm not," she said, shaking her head. "You believed I could do _so_ many other things," she said simply. "You were always pushing me in the field, but you never doubted that I was capable. When we started talking about kids, there was carry-over; trust me. You believed in me, and I don't know... It gave me the courage to believe in myself, I guess."

She sat up, wrapping her arms around him. "Thank you for that," she murmured in her ear. "Sam, I don't know what else... _Thank you,_" she whispered.

He pressed his lips to her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. "Your love is thanks enough, Andy." He pulled back, his dark eyes boring into hers. "I'm so lucky to have you, sweetheart, I am."

"How 'bout you?" she said after a long moment. "How do you feel?"

"About being a dad? It's, uh." He paused, reaching for her hand. "Best thing I've ever done," he said finally, blowing out a breath. "Hands down."

"Yeah?" she asked, her smile growing.

"Yeah," he said, mirroring her slow, lazy smile. "You gave me the most beautiful baby girl in the world, Andy."

She tilted her head, thumbing at his jaw before nodding in agreement. "Can't argue with that logic. We should send in a headshot to, like, Gerber or something. That baby could be a model."

She felt the rumble of laughter in Sam's chest and grinned, pulling back to stare at him.

"Think we should give it a go again?"

His eyes widened infinitesimally, and he ran his hands over her thighs in long, soothing strokes. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "I mean, we've had a hell of a lotta firsts together, Sam. Everything has been fresh and exciting, but that's what the future is, right? An abundance of firsts, if you're just willing to take the chance."

She smiled, her hands wrapped around his jaw as she leaned forward, bumping their noses together. "I love you," she said quietly. "I want this. With you. Always."

"Besides," she added conspiratorially, whispering against his lips. "Maybe it's time to try some 'firsts' with a 'second,' you know?"

**FIN.**

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><p><strong>I am, as ever, indebted to my readers. Thank you. It's hard to believe that this idea started as a brainstorming session for a oneshot, and now, 100K words later, I'm marking this story "complete." <strong>

**Anonymous reviews are once again enabled, and I sincerely hope that readers will leave a parting thought or two. Your remarks on the last chapter were a true delight to read, and I'm so grateful.**

**Thank you for sticking with me, and happy reading in the future! - AB**


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